Last Dance with Shinobu chan
by Project Pegasus
Summary: **COMPLETE** How does the rest of the Hinata Sou react when Shinobu-chan asks Keitaro to take her to her graduation dance? What are Shinobu's motives? How will Naru keep from showing her true feelings to Keitaro? What are Keitaro's motives?
1. Chapter 1: Hinata Sou: Present Day, Pres...

Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan

By Project Pegasus

Note:  This story takes place roughly around Volume 10 or so of the manga.  

Chapter I: Breakfast at Hinata Sou's

            Early in the morning, after dawn had broken but before it was a justifiable hour to arise, Keitaro was in the throes of unbearable passion.

            "Oh Naru! Naru! Say you'll never love another," Keitaro moaned, lost in the awareness of existence that only Naru could grant him.  "Naru! Naru! Naru!" he said almost like a reflex as he melted into a climax.  After remaining tenderly silent for a while, Keitaro spoke once again, "So Naru, did you cu . . ."

            But without warning, from above, there was a shuffling.  The plank that simultaneously covered the hole in Keitaro's ceiling and the gap in Naru's floor was removed.

            "Keitaro, what the hell do you need?  This better be important," Naru grumbled, her head appearing through the hole in Keitaro's ceiling, her eyes half open and bleary.

            "Ah! No!" she screamed in terror when she saw where his hand was and what was on it.  "You absolute PERVERT! That's why you were saying my name?!"

            She lowered herself into Keitaro's room with all the grace of a ballerina but with the objectives of a Viking.  Keitaro got up, but realized his pants had not done the same.  Quickly, he pulled up his pants and began to back away from Naru, knocking over a small table as he went.  On the table had been half full soda cans that presently poured their contents out onto the hardwood floor.  Keitaro, not daring to take his eyes off Naru, did not notice that pools of soda gathering behind his feet.  Naru, taking advantage, was able to fell Keitaro with one resounding push and some grape soda.

            After slipping on the grape soda and falling on his rear, Keitaro tried to plead his case while surreptitiously seeking a blunt object.  "Naru! Naru, you misunderstand." But it was too late.

            "You should be sleeping right now!" she growled, standing imposingly over him, "Here let me help you!" She grabbed him by the throat and lifted him from the ground. "You see," she said through gritted teeth, "You're not the only one who can do a bit of 'choking' around here." 

            As Keitaro began to lose consciousness, he clutched Naru's face and started to push her away.  Unexpectedly, her grip loosened.

            "Ah! You haven't washed your hands yet!! You'll pay for this!" she squealed as she dropped him and began to wipe her face.  She rushed off, presumably to the washroom or to a priest.  Keitaro then proceeded to clean up his accidents (both of them) when Shinobu came into the room.

"Sempai," she said sweetly, "I heard all the commotion. I didn't think you'd be up this early.  I guess a Todai student can never study too hard."

 "Yeah, studying, that's what I was doing." Keitaro said sheepishly.  

"At any rate sempai, I made a special breakfast just for you.  Real brain food," she said giggling a bit, "but I guess you don't need much of that."

"Are you saying I don't have a brain?" Keitaro shot back.

"Oh sempai, even when you are being humorous you are so modest," she said giggling even more, "Shall I bring you a tray?"    

"Wait Shinobu, why are you making me a special breakfast at this hour?  It's much too early.  Is something wrong?"  

Shinobu began to stutter neurotically and couldn't bring herself to look Keitaro in the eye.  Keitaro lowered his head and attempted to look her into her eyes as he spoke to her.

"Shinobu-chan, you know you can tell me anything," he said leaning over and peering upwards, trying to glance into her downward cast eyes.  Every time his stare got too close, she turned her head away.  

Turning her head a final time, she exclaimed, "Sempai, look at that sticky mess you've made!"

"Ummm," he cringed, "you mean the grape soda, right?"

"Yes sempai.  I'll clean it up for you," she said, cheerful to leave the subject of a possible secret she might be harboring.

"No! No!  You set the table for breakfast.  I'll clean up the mess myself." Keitaro insisted while pushing Shinobu out of the room.

"Sempai are you sure?  I'd be more than happy to . . . "   But with that Keitaro slammed the door on Shinobu. Keitaro then finished cleaning up his room. After he had thrown the paper towels away, there was a knock on his door.  

"Come in," Keitaro said.  The door slid open and Naru entered with an anguished look on her face.  Keitaro was relieved that he could finally relate to somebody the bizarre events that had just taken place with Shinobu.  He stood up.

He blurted out incoherently, "Oh Naru, I'm so glad to see you.  Shinobu was in here and she was giggling and talking about making my breakfast, and I think she has a secret but knowing how shy Shinobu is, she just couldn't . . . "

But Naru wouldn't allow Keitaro another inane syllable.  She rushed up to Keitaro and gave him a Stone Cold Stunner.*  Keitaro reeled from Naru's Stunner, flipping over a few times before finally coming to rest.

"I don't care what Shinobu said.  Naru 3:16 says I just wooped your ass!" Naru railed at Keitaro before she kicked his head for good measure and left.

End of Chapter 1.

*Note: A Stone Cold Stunner is a wrestling move used by Stone Cold Steve Austin.  What?  Basically, he kicks his opponent in the belly.  Then when the opponent is hunched forward a bit.  Stone Cold turns around, then grabs his opponent's head and puts his opponent's chin against his shoulder.  Stone Cold then jumps into the air and lands flat on his bottom.  The opponent's chin thus goes crashing into Stone Cold's shoulder, leaving him STUNNED!

Disclaimer:  All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners.  This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only. 


	2. Chapter 2: Breakfast of Champions

Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan

By Project Pegasus

Chapter II: Vanity's Err

            The table was set for two as Shinobu sat miserably munching an apple, waiting for Keitaro to arrive.  In her mind, she ruminated painfully over her previous day's lunch in the school cafeteria.  Shinobu had never been one who made friends easily, or more specifically, she was not one who was cunning enough to master the art of playground alliances.  Even though the inhabitants of Hinata Sou could only speak of Shinobu in the most endearing and affectionate terms, to her classmates, Shinobu was at best a recluse to those who regarded her with sympathy, and at worst an unsightly pariah by the movers and shakers of her eight grade class.

            From her dining table in the Hinata Sou, Shinobu evoked her cafeteria table from the other day, at which she had been quietly enjoying lunch with her school friend, Hotaru, another student who also felt out of place in any and all of the traditional circles that defined their middle school life.

            "So Hotaru how was your day?" Shinobu asked cordially.  

            "Does it matter?" replied Hotaru.

            To this Shinobu had no answer, and so continued to eat in silence.  

            After a while Shinobu attempted to strike up another conversation, "Did you see that new film, "Liddo-kun and His Friends: Who's the Cannibal?"  It was so moving I cried at the end."

            "Your tears mean nothing," Hotaru informed Shinobu in a detached voice.

            "Oh, ok," Shinobu accepted as she unwrapped another rice ball.

            From behind Shinobu, two girls approached her table.

            "Why hello ladies," the first said with a feigned cheerfulness.  

            Shinobu turned.  "Ikuko, hi," Shinobu said, doing her best to keep fear from overtaking her voice.

            Ikuko continued, "I just came to see how you all were doing in terms of finding dates for the dance."

            Shinobu looked at Ikuko for a moment.  Ikuko had elegant hair that seemed to shine with the radiance of a desolate winter landscape and flow with the effortlessness of a stream.  She was tall, and could almost be described as lanky had she not been able to hold herself as well as she did.  Most of all her chest, almost like a status symbol, never ceased to reinforce every inadequacy Shinobu felt about her own body.

            Hotaru did not even acknowledge Ikuko or her companion Moto's presence and by her body language suggested that Shinobu do the same.  But Shinobu, whose good nature left her vulnerable to all the absurdities of adolescent abuse, spoke on both their behalves.

            "Well, we've been studying hard for finals so we really haven't had time to look for . . ."

            Ikuko cut her off, "Why don't you just cheat?  Just give the teachers a little of what they want, and they'll leave you alone."

            Shinobu stammered out a response, "What they want? Oh, I'm not crafty or pretty enough to make something like that work, not like you in any case."

            Her attempt to flatter Ikuko failed.  To show that she was not appeased, Ikuko persisted, "Well, why chase after boys when they all come flocking to you, eh Shinobu?" 

            Shinobu smiled nervously not wanting to let Ikuko see how much it hurt inside.

            Ikuko went on, "Well, I must say that I wish I could be like you.  You know, left alone by the boys.  Consider yourself lucky.  You can spend all the time you want by yourself and nobody would notice."  She stopped for a moment and stared at the unpronounced curves in Shinobu's uniform. "Don't worry, you'll grow up some day," she scoffed.

            With that Shinobu had had enough.  She clenched her fists and unrepentantly set upon a course of action.  "I have a date!" Shinobu said with an insistence that shocked everyone, especially Shinobu, "And for your information, he is a Todai student!"  

            The whole cafeteria had refrained from speech at the mention of the word of 'Todai'.

            Ikuko tried to pass this off as trivial, "What, is he your cousin or something?"

            At that moment, Shinobu wished that she could restrain herself from any further conversation, but she had already conceded that right.  She calmed her voice, lowered her head, not managing to look Ikuko in the eye, "I don't communicate with my family."

            "Well," Ikuko inquired, pursuing another line of argument, "I bet he's a pimply nerd."

            "Ikuko, don't be jealous," somebody in the cafeteria blurted out before laughing.

            "Well, he's not really strong, or tall, or even manly, but he's rather handsome," she paused, probing for the right word, "and very sensitive in a generous way."

            Ikuko, exhausting her options, exclaimed, "Fine, good for you," and left the table with Moto in tow.

            The cafeteria reassumed its usual soft shuffling whisper.  Hotaru, perhaps a little ashamed for not standing up to Ikuko in the name of Shinobu's honor, arose from her seat.  She went behind Shinobu and placed a hand on her shoulder.  "I must go now.  Shinobu, are you all right?" she inquired with a voice that almost ran with emotion.

            Shinobu placed her hand over Hotaru's.  "I'll be ok.  I have a date, remember?"

            The memory of Hotaru's slender hand resting on her shoulder drifted through Shinobu's memory as another hand was placed there.  This time, it was Keitaro.

            "Shinobu, are you all right?" Keitaro asked.

End of Chapter II (sorry, no Pedigree in this one, but stay tuned)

Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only. 


	3. Chapter 3: Static and Silence

Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan.

By Project Pegasus

Chapter III:  Static and Silence

            Shinobu was startled out of her reverie by Keitaro's entrance.  She turned to meet Keitaro.  "Sempai!  Hello.  I'm fine.  Please sit down.  How are you?" she said, a still a little nervous since Keitaro had been able to deduce that Shinobu had an ulterior motive. 

            "I'm ok," Keitaro said while seating himself opposite Shinobu,  "I'm flattered Shinobu, really.  You really didn't need to go through all this trouble just for me."

            "Sempai, it wasn't any problem at all.  You know I'd do the same for anyone," she said smiling.

            Keitaro surveyed the breakfast.  There were slices of teriyaki meat seasoned like only Shinobu knew how, rice with sesame seeds in it, toast and biscuits, and tea, coffee and freshly squeezed juice.  Keitaro thanked Shinobu again before he began to eat.  After savoring Shinobu's meal for a while, he noticed that Shinobu seemed distant and lost in thought.

            Keitaro finished his bite of pork cutlet before speaking again, "Are you feeling well?  Why aren't you eating any?"

            "Oh sempai," Shinobu said in a gasp, "I'm just thinking a little.  And you know that a cook doesn't like to eat the food she's just prepared.  It's all very psychological.  I will have a cup of tea though."  She reached across the table for a cup and the teapot.

            "Oh ok, if you're sure," Keitaro said, taking up a triangle of toast.

            Keitaro and Shinobu sat in an all-consuming silence.  Keitaro suspected that Shinobu had something she wanted to tell him, but couldn't bring himself to make such a reckless indictment.  Shinobu herself knew that her attempt to ingratiate herself into Keitaro's graces was overwrought and that her verbal endeavors at flattery were too stilted to be convincing.  Even so, the two sat together enjoying each other's company in the early morning hours.  This seemed a time for solitude in one another, a comforting illusion that would soon enough be broken by the other residents of Hinata Sou.  

At times, Shinobu would look up at Keitaro.  Keitaro, noticing this, would smile back at Shinobu.  Shinobu would then quickly turn her head and pretend to be engrossed by the design on her teacup or to be checking for lint on her sleeve, all the while suppressing a mutinous blush that would betray her feelings.  Even though they both knew that there were secrets and lies at work in the arrangement of this special breakfast, the quiet was not at all an awkward silence, but an indication of the reassurance and calm two people can find within each other with they have reached that point in their relationship when they can dispense with the hallow routine of pointless chitchat, when they can take pleasure in each other's companionship wholeheartedly.

When Keitaro had at last cleaned his plate he said, "Shinobu, thank you.  That was probably the best breakfast I've ever had, honest. You'd better get ready for school.  I'll take care of the dishes."

Shinobu thought about objecting to this, but decided against it.  For his part, Keitaro had presumed that Shinobu had a hidden agenda, humiliating her.  She was not in a position to negotiate his instructions.  She went upstairs and got ready for school.  "And when you're done, come back down please," Keitaro called up to Shinobu as she ascended the staircase, "I want to look at your homework."

            "Yes sempai," Shinobu consented disconsolately, her spirit utterly deflated.

            While Shinobu brushed her teeth, washed her face, and pressed her uniform, she pined over how much of a failure the morning had been.  She was exhausted from arising so early to start breakfast, and not only had she failed to ask Keitaro to her school dance, but she also realized that it would now appear as though she were trying to manipulate him.  When this dawned on her, her morning routines became even more taxing.  She gathered her homework from her desk and crammed it into her backpack.  As she descended the stairwell, she noticed a subdued bustling in the kitchen.  Even though it was a bit early, she assumed that the other residents of Hinata Sou were preparing their meals.

            But when Shinobu reached the kitchen, she only saw Keitaro, his back facing her. "Sempai, you're not done with the dishes yet?  Would you like me to finish them for you?"

"No I'm done with the dishes Shinobu, but here, this is for you."  When Keitaro turned around, he presented Shinobu with a simple breakfast prepared while Shinobu was readying herself for school.  There were only a couple of eggs, rice, and some chopped and peeled fruit, but at the sight of this, tears began to well up in Shinobu's eyes and she began to shake.

Keitaro panicked, trying to discern how Shinobu knew that he had dropped half an eggshell into the skillet.  He put the plate down and held Shinobu.  "No, Shinobu-chan, I didn't mean for you to cry.  I know it isn't a very fancy breakfast, but I felt so guilty since you worked so hard and didn't want anything to eat.  If you want, we can go to a pancake house and get something decent.  My treat."

"No sempai. It's not what you think," Shinobu wept, "It's not that at all.  Your breakfast means so much to me.  You made it out of the goodness of your heart, but I only made your breakfast so I could get something out of you."

"You made me the best breakfast of my life, that's what counts.  You know I'd do anything for you.  You'd just have to ask"

"Sempai," Shinobu was able to blubber, "I don't have a date for the prom.  The boys at school ignore me and the girls pick on me."

"It's ok Shinobu-chan.  Don't cry." Keitaro said while caringly stroking Shinobu's hair.

"I know you're a Todai student and don't have any time or money, but could you please be my date to the prom?  I know it was dishonest of me to make you breakfast to guilt you into this, but please sempai please . . ."

Keitaro could say nothing for a while, as though he either held a deep reverence for, or disgust of middle school graduation proms that prevented him from speaking.  After a while, he managed to regain his voice.  "Shinobu, I'd be honored if you would let me accompany you to the prom." 

"Sempai . . ." Shinobu whispered, "Thank you, sempai."

With tears still glazing her cheeks, Shinobu took a step back from Keitaro and for once could look him in the eye.

End of Chapter III

Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only. 


	4. Chapter 4: The Announcement

Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan.

By Project Pegasus

Chapter IV:  The Announcement.

            That afternoon, Shinobu sat quietly at her desk.  With her hands cradling her head, she recalled how at school that day, she had proudly given her name along side that of Urashima-Keitaro when asked by the secretary in the office what names were to be written on Shinobu's prom ticket.  Nearby some girls were staring at Shinobu, but since she did not know who they were, she did not give them another thought.  But later at lunch, Shinobu could hear interspersed throughout various conversations her name mentioned, as well as the name of Urashima-Keitaro.  Even Hotaru, a girl who filled her world with so much melancholy and isolation that it gave her little room for petty social concerns, took note of Shinobu's sudden celebrity status and remarked in a emotionless voice, "My goodness, you've become an idol."

            Shinobu was not amused.  "You know it's not like that," she responded indignantly.  But she could understand Hotaru's point of view.  It all seemed rather shameless, and she regretted that Keitaro's name was being dishonored by merciless slanderers who didn't even know who Urashima-Keitaro was.  It was as though an epidemic had hit her middle school.  Each student was infected by the intrigue of Shinobu and Keitaro's relationship like a victim of the plague.  After a person had been afflicted by some bit of gossip, he or she would then distort, embellish, and sensationalize the received rumor before passing the new strain of virus to somebody else.  But even so, all this notoriety seemed almost like a pleasant poison for Shinobu.  For once people would know who she was.

            Ikuko, for her part, attempted to play it off, laughing coquettishly, carrying on mechanical conversations with boys, passing magazines between her friends, but never mentioning Shinobu since even she knew that a classmate who had a date with a Todai student had trumped her, and that it was better to ignore the situation than to seem jealous.

            These memories illuminated Shinobu's mind as she held dear her ticket and revisited the names of _Maehara-Shinobu_ and _Urashima-Keitaro_ again and again.  This seemed almost divine confirmation of a predestined love affair between Keitaro and Shinobu, as though the prom ticket had somehow mysteriously nullified the vow Keitaro had made fifteen years earlier: she was now Keitaro's 'promised girl'.  Whenever Shinobu's rational side interjected itself and protested that panic, injured pride, guilt and circumstance were the real underlying causes of her date with Keitaro, her sentimental side would rebut, putting all of these haphazard conditions under one category: 'fate'.

            Keitaro and Shinobu had decided almost wordlessly to keep their dance a secret from the rest of Hinata Sou.  All of its residents had nothing to gain and everything to lose if they were to learn that Keitaro was going to be Shinobu's date to the prom.  There was Naru.  Shinobu knew that Keitaro loved Naru, and so she wouldn't want to do anything that would hurt Keitaro's position with her because the last thing Shinobu wanted was to make Keitaro miserable.  Mutsumi had also loved Keitaro, so to show that Keitaro was becoming closer to Shinobu would have been unnecessarily cruel.  In the case of Motoko, even though Keitaro had helped her deal with her sister, she still never ceased to warn Shinobu and Suu of Keitaro's 'corrupting' tendencies.  As for Mitsune, they feared it would just give her another excuse to get wasted on booze.

            As for logistics, they agreed to get ready for the prom at Haruka's house.  Shinobu had decided to tell everyone else that she was visiting Hotaru's house, which wouldn't be hard to believe since she lived in a mansion with her father, who was a professor.  Keitaro would manufacture some excuse about having to spend more time with Shirai and Haitanisince they hardly seemed to appear anymore.  All this subterfuge gave Shinobu the impression that they were doing something altogether romantic and daring.  Perhaps, Shinobu even thought, two simple residents of Hinata Sou spending the _whole_ night out would hardly be noticed by the others . . .   

            Shinobu smiled to herself once more and put the ticket in her desk drawer.  She opened her backpack and began to set up her books and arranged her papers for her homework regimen when suddenly, her desk drawer flung open, and Tama-chan flew out with something in his mouth.  When Shinobu inspected her drawer, hectically performing an impromptu inventory, she realized that her prom ticket was absent.  She jerked her head up just in time to see Tama sail out the window toward Motoko practicing outside.  She dashed down the hall toward the wooden balcony where Motoko spent so many afternoons deep in meditation and training.  Motoko had been Shinobu's mentor in many ways.  As a woman who unabashedly dedicated herself to an ancient practice traditionally reserved for men, Motoko had taught Shinobu some basic sword techniques, but more importantly, she was Shinobu's unfailing counselor and big sister at a time in life when Shinobu obsessively entertained so many insecurities about herself.  Shinobu remembered her sweet blue days spent in conversation with, or training alongside Motoko as some of her dearest and most treasured.  But none of that mattered now as Shinobu, in a near monomaniacal psychosis, shot down to the hall's end seeking to reclaim her stolen ticket.  When she opened the door and poked her head outside, she huffed to Motoko, "Have you seen Tama-chan?"

            Motoko inquisitively studied Shinobu's terrified face.  "He flew by here but went down towards the living room. Is everything ok?"

            "Fine," Shinobu said as she sprinted away.  Motoko shrugged her shoulders and continued her drills.

            Shinobu raced all the way downstairs to the main room where most of Hinata Sou's residents sat watching television.  Shinobu remained in the threshold of the hallway while her eyes frantically searched for Tama-chan.  Finally, she spotted him perched on Mutsumi's shoulder.  Mutsumi had taken the ticket out of Tama's mouth and was examining it.  Now Mutsumi knew everything.  At that moment, Shinobu couldn't interpret Mutsumi's reaction.  In fact, behind Mutsumi's mask of good heartedness, Shinobu could never tell if Mutsumi was ever truly happy or unhappy.

            Shinobu, in a hushed voice and waving arms madly, signaled to Mutsumi.  Mutsumi turned around and caught sight of Shinobu and, not certain what Shinobu was doing, waved back imitating Shinobu's manic motions.  Shinobu pointed to Mutsumi's hand.  "Shinobu-chan what's wrong?" she asked.  Shinobu covered her mouth to try to indicate to Mutsumi that she had to be silent.  Luckily, none of the other residents of Hinata Sou had noticed Shinobu speaking to Mutsumi.

            "No Shinobu-chan, you don't have any food on your mouth," Mutsumi said in an uncertain voice.  Suddenly, Mutsumi's face lit up with realization, "Oh! Do you want this back?"

            Shinobu nodded her head with eyes bulging.

            "And you want me to not talk so loud, right?"

            Again Shinobu repeated this gesture.

            "Now I understand Shinobu-chan!  Here, I'll give it back to you at once.  And don't worry I won't tell a soul that you're going to the prom with Keitaro-kun."

            Shinobu tossed up her hands in resignation as the rest of the room turned toward Mutsumi and shouted, "WHAT?!"

            Mutsumi put her hands on her face in embarrassment.   "Ara! Ara!  Shinobu-chan, don't worry, I won't tell anybody _else_ your secret."

End of Chapter IV.

Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only. 


	5. Chapter 5: Within a Budding Grove

Last Dance With Shinobu-Chan

By Project Pegasus

Chapter V: Within a Budding Grove.

            Three days after "The Announcement"

            In the quiet of the late afternoon, Naru sat in her room with a book open on her lap.  Even though her eyes scanned the words adorning the page again and again, her mind just couldn't comprehend them.  She closed the book and set it aside, taking a final glimpse of the cover before placing it on her desk.  On the cover, the scene stood static as a harsh Russian winter encircled two lovers embracing each other.  Above them were stamped the words _Doctor Zhivago_ in imposing katakana.  She sighed and began to stare at the wall pensively.  It only answered her search for answers with a blank, meaningless expression.  

            It had already been three days since Mutsumi had leaked Shinobu's secret rendezvous with Keiatro.  The fallout had been worse than anything Keitaro or Shinobu could have imagined.  Suu, Sara, Mitsune, Mutsumi, and Naru were in the room at the time.  When the initial shock of the revelation had slowly subsided into an irrevocable reality, they realized that Shinobu, who had been lurking in the threshold of the room, had stolen away.  Nobody had seen her slip away, and nobody would have been in the mood to stop her.

            Most of the residents were bitterly displeased with Shinobu's actions.  They all knew that Keitaro and Naru were in love, even if Naru was the last one to admit to this fact; it would have taken a drastic circumstance for anybody else to try to break them up.  Shinobu had not only betrayed Naru's trust, but she had also broken faith with all of the residents of Hinata Sou by threatening to disrupt the harmony of their home.  

            Keitaro had been running errands that day, but when he returned, even before he had begun to put away his groceries in the pantry, he deciphered the body language, heard the wordless denouncements spoken behind his back, and felt the accusing eyes following him.  It was obvious to him that everybody knew who Shinobu's date to the prom was.  

            Later that evening, in Shinobu's absence, Mutsumi had prepared dinner, and attempted to carry on conversation at the table, but the tide of bewilderment and the contamination of bitterness ran too deep in everyone, not just Naru.  Perhaps, the other residents weren't just upset about Shinobu upsetting the equilibrium of Hinata Sou; perhaps, without even realizing it, the other residents of Hinata Sou had fallen in love with Keitaro and were envious of Shinobu's success, but nobody would admit this out loud.  In fact, they said nothing to each other as they dined in the same intense, unbearable silence that had not lifted since Mutsumi had made the announcement.    

            Later, Mutsumi would carry a tray to Shinobu's door, call to her, but leave when she realized that she couldn't wheedle Shinobu from her room.  It was also Mutsumi who retrieve the empty tray when Shinobu had finished her meal.  As Mutsumi kneeled down to pick up Shinobu's used tray, she noticed the shadow of two feet from beneath Shinobu's door.  They hesitated for a moment in front of the door, but skittering away into the interior of the room.

***

            Naru continued to gaze at the wall.  The absolute silent of the room was only interrupted by the occasional rustle of leaves, the arcane, impenetrable, but ultimately frivolous prattle of birds, and Motoko, who was practicing with an curious amount of ardor and ferociousness, perhaps so she wouldn't have to remember what she had done to Shinobu earlier that day.  

            After the wall had ceased to interest her, she turned her attention to Liddo-kun sitting on the panel that separatied her room from Keitaro's.  At first, Liddo-kun seemed to return the same mockingly nonchalant gaze that the wall had, but then Liddo-kun began to remind Naru of Mutsumi.  For both girls, Kei-kun had been their first love, but Mutsumi had loved him before Naru had.  Was it Mutsumi who swore to make Keitaro happy by going to Todai with him?  That was only a minor technicality, Naru thought to herself.  Mutsumi had renounced any claim to Keitaro long ago, when all three of them still played together as children.  When Naru visited Okinawa, she reclaimed the memory of how Mutsumi had purposely lost to her in a game of rock-paper-scissor.  From her sacrifice, Naru had gained the right to Keitaro's love.  Mutsumi had forsaken her first love for her sake, and yet she couldn't even bring herself to confess her true feelings to him, even though he had taken the initiative and said, "I love you" when she went to keep him company at the hospital.

Naru also thought about how as a child, she had been sickly and bedridden with anemia, rendering her unable to play outside with Kei-kun and Mutsumi.  Mysteriously, her anime would be cured only a few years later, and Mutsumi, who wished that Naru could be a strong child and play with the other children, would have to cope with fainting spells due to anemia.  Mutsumi seemed to almost collect the sufferings of others and return sympathy and tenderness in its place.  What forces were really at work at Hinata Sou, Naru asked herself.  She continued to stare at Liddo-kun.  The curves and contours of Liddo-kun's body seemed to fade away as Naru submerged herself deeper and deeper into her reverie, until only his ghastly smile seemed to linger, as though he were giving her an almost Cheshire Cat grin.

            But how had she repaid Mutsumi for every gift that made her life meaningful: Liddo-kun, her near perfect health after an affliction that should have been lifelong, and most of all Keitaro?  She almost felt revulsion toward herself when she realized how little she had done.  Keitaro had already confessed his love for her and she acted as though the incident had never occurred.  She couldn't even bring herself to give a response to Keitaro's profession.

            Why was Keitaro now going to the prom with Shinobu, Naru asked herself desperately.  Was he using Shinobu as a weapon of revenge against her?  

            Perhaps he had just given up hope on Naru, cut his losses, and moved on, pretending that Naru had not been the one whom he truly loved.  Keitaro would not be altogether unjustified in this act since Naru had basically ignored and belittled Keitaro's feelings: he was just repaying the inattention she showed him.  

            Of course, Naru had always wondered about the genuineness of Keitaro's love for her.  She wondered if he felt attracted to all of the members of Hinata Sou to the point of seeing them almost as a single object of his affection.  Perhaps while straying within this budding grove of young girls, he had only happened to fall in love with her out of blind chance, like some game of erotic roulette.  Perhaps the love he had for her was tainted by the attraction he felt for Shinobu, Kitsune, Suu, Mutsumi, and Motoko as well.

            But it wasn't as though she didn't try to meet him half way, she reasoned.  She just couldn't understand him.  Once, before Keitaro broke his leg, she had even snuck into his room and rummaged through his bookshelf and video collection to better understand his tastes and interests.  She did feel a twinge of guilt because of her invasion of his privacy, but she justified her actions by telling herself that he had no doubt leafed through her diaries on a number of occasions to plumb her inner emotions.  As she perused his videos, at the bottom of the pile, she was startled to find an American video featuring half naked men wearing leather or spandex tights.  She held the video in near disbelief as she flipped it over and read the blurb on the back about strange pairings, and sexually suggestive pseudonyms like, "Mr. Ass", "Sexual Chocolate", "The Big Show," "Big Boss Man" (did he practice forms of domination, she wondered), "Lance Storm", and "The Rock".  Naru had heard that often times, pornography actors change their names to conceal their identity.  Did Keitaro have a secret addiction to imported gay American porno?  

            Naru couldn't suppress her curiosity.  She put the video into his VCR and waited a few moments for the tape to begin.  While the FBI warning appeared and faded, Naru wondered if perhaps Keitaro wasn't really a pervert but was just overcompensating for his gay porn fetish.  She began to feel sympathy for this pathetic creature and regretted being so hard on him.  It was clear that he had demons to conquer and she wasn't helping.

            The WWF company logo screen had faded when suddenly, Naru heard footsteps coming her way.  She knew that Keitaro had returned.  Quickly, she ejected the tape, slipped the cover back on, and returned it to the bottom of his video collection.  As soon as she had done so, Keitaro entered the room.  His eyes lit up when he saw Naru standing in his room.

             "Naru!" Keitaro exclaimed, "What a surprise!  Can I do anything for you?"

            "Ummm, I was just waiting for you because I needed to talk to you," Naru said, searching for the right way to approach the situation, "Keitaro, you know, you don't have to be ashamed about watching this 'WWF' by yourself."  She pronounced "WWF" with an air of uncertainty, not exactly sure how he would react to her knowing his little secret.  Unexpectedly, he didn't flinch; he only looked a little confused as to why she was bringing up the WWF.  

            "Naru," Keitaro said with vagueness in his voice, "I don't watch the WWF.  For some reason, Shirai and Haitani got really into it.  They ask me over sometimes to watch it with them, but I usually don't go for that kind of stuff."

            Naru could see for the first time how truly repressed Keitaro's homosexuality was.  No wonder she never saw Shirai or Haitani around Hinata Sou anymore: he must not have wanted the girls to suspect the true nature of their relationship.  Naru was moved beyond words at how courageous a facade Keitaro put up just to try to fit in.  "Keitaro," she said, her voice honeyed with compassion, "You don't need to pretend.  I personally don't think that there is anything wrong with you if you watch that sort of thing."

            "Well I do," Keitaro huffed.

            "Keitaro, you mustn't say those things," Naru protested, "You can't change who you are or what you like."

            "That's just an excuse," Keitaro interjected.

            "Keitaro, you don't need to hide or run away," Naru said sorrowfully, "None of the residents will think any less of you if you come out."

            "Naru, I don't know what's gotten into you.  I really don't like the WWF, ok?  That stuff is sick and you can tell those guys are faking it."

            At this statement Naru drew back, astonished at how candid Keitaro was and how closely he must have been watching these videos.  

            "You know," Keitaro continued, "Sometimes Shirai and Haitaniwatch that garbage and then perform some of the moves they saw on each other."

            Naru couldn't help but let out a little gasp of surprise at this revolting image Keitaro had conjured up.

            "I know," Keitaro continued, "That's dangerous, and sometime in the future, they won't do it right and one of them will be permanently injured."

            "Oh my!" Naru quivered at such a graphic image, yet was just a little curious.

            "You know, when they're doing this to each other, sometimes they want _me _to join.  Can you imagine?"

            "Keitaro," Naru said nauseously, "if you really want to join, you shouldn't stop yourself.  There's really nothing wrong with it."

            "Yes there is," Keitaro persisted, "and I can prove it. Shirai and Haitani gave me a tape for my birthday.  You can see just how sick it is."  He went over to his video collection and selected the WWF tape.  He slid it into the VCR and fast-forwarded to the first match.  Naru rubbed her delicate hands together nervously.  Was this just another form of Keitaro's overcompensation, to force her to watch gay pornography with him just to prove that it didn't affect him in the least?

            Keitaro began to explain the rivalry that led up to the first two actor's 'match'.  Naru had heard that pornographic movies used preposterous plots, had ridiculous acting, and used absurd dialogue.  As she listened to Keitaro explain the storyline and saw an actor grunt something about how he were going to 'ravage' the other guy, she wondered how he could subject her to this homoerotic pageantry.  

            Why was she still here instead of running away or hitting him for being such a degenerate, she asked herself.  Did she want to prove to herself that maybe she had been wrong about this whole thing and that she had been mistaken about what the WWF was?  The initial shock of Keitaro's homosexuality was beginning to wear off and the realities of the situation began to set in.  If in fact Keitaro had no interest in women, then that would mean that he never wanted to date her.  Naru had always felt that she could do anything she damn well pleased to Keitaro because he would never lose affection for her despite all of the abuse.  

            Had she been deluding herself all this time?  Perhaps (and this thought shook her to the core) he never loved her in the first place.  Perhaps it was she who really had fallen in love with him, and when she projected her love onto him, she had deceived herself into thinking that he really loved her.  Had she seen only the mirage of her love cast back at her?  Did she come to believe that he loved her because that's what she wanted to believe?  All this time, Naru thought of herself as the center of Keitaro's universe, and she had exploited her position gratuitously by leashing Keitaro with the gravity of his love for her.  At times, she did take pity on him, and instead of this slavish association, she instead conceived of them as two celestial bodies who recognized each other across the universe.  But now she had to come to grips with the fact that Keitaro did not produce the boiling light of love for her; her unreciprocated love had been reflected off of Keitaro as though he were the surface of a moon, he being nothing but inert matter, devoid of any love and desire for her.  All these silly astronomical metaphors gave her a galactic headache.  She gathered her thoughts.  In other words, she was seeing things that weren't there.  She had been mesmerized by her own illusion of self-importance this whole time.  Now that all love was impossible, she craved feverishly to take Keitaro in her arms and tell him everything that she had been unable to.  Even if Mutsumi had eaten her anemia, Naru was still severely and painfully ailing emotionally.  She didn't seem to know what she wanted.

            The first match was about to begin as the camera panned over the crowd.  Naru never realized that these types of events were so popular and almost mainstream in America.  The two actors came out to music and the crowd knew their role and instinctively jeered one and applauded for the other.  The Americans certainly have strange forms of foreplay, Naru thought as the actors bounced each other around the ring and beat on each other.  While this went on, Naru wondered when the eroticism would begin.  Finally after a few minutes of this roughhousing, the announcer violently exclaimed, "STUNNER! STUNNER! STUNNER!"  Naru thought that this was the prelude to the wealth of smut that was no doubt waiting for them, and her fears seemed to be confirmed when one actor laid himself on top of the other, but almost as enigmatically as it began, the obviously defeated actor left the ring, and the victor began to drink beer in celebration of his victory.

            "Wait," Naru said in a baffled tone, "So that's it?  It's like they were just dancing around each other the whole time."

            "That's it," Keitaro said, "I told you it didn't make any sense."

            At this, Naru was incensed.  She had convinced herself that WWF had to be pornography because that's the only thing men ever thought about: sex.  When she saw the cover of the video with men wearing skimpy leather briefs with silly, ambiguously lurid names, what else could she assume except that it had to cater to the insatiably licentious nature of men?

            "You men only want one thing!!" she yelled at him as she buried her fist in his face and stormed out of the room.  The sound of her footsteps as they drummed across his floor echoed through her mind.  Keitaro had waited fifteen years just to fulfill his pledge to his 'promised girl'.  Would Keitaro really continue to endure Naru's psychological restlessness, or was he unable to wait any longer, because he had already been waiting forever?  Suddenly, Naru realized that it was not her footsteps that were resonating through her mind, but that someone was knocking on her door.  Naru opened her door, and standing outside of her room were Keitaro and Shinobu.

            "We have to speak with you, Narusegawa-sempai," Shinobu pleaded.

End of Chapter V.

Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only. 


	6. Chapter 6, Part I: And Then She Kissed ...

Last Dance with Shinobu-chan.

By Project Pegasus

Chapter VI, Part I:  And Then She Kissed Her, Her Only Love . . .

            Shinobu tossed up her hands in resignation as the rest of the room turned toward Mutsumi and shouted, "WHAT?!"

Mutsumi put her hands on her face in embarrassment. "Ara! Ara! Shinobu-chan, don't worry, I won't tell anybody _else_ your secret."

            There was an intense silence for a moment as the other residents stared at Mutsumi, as though even Hinata Sou itself stood still in anticipation.  

            Then Naru cast the first stone.  "Wait, wait, Keitaro and Shinobu . . . a dance?!"

            After Naru had acted as rainmaker, the deluge of outbursts began.  

            "Shinobu and Keitaro, when did this happen?!  Are you lying, Mutsumi" Sara demanded

            "Mutsumi, what are you talking about?" Suu asked in disbelief.

            "This is too much to handle," Mitsune shouted in exasperation, "This calls for that bottle of whiskey I've been saving.  Anybody want to go shot for shot with me?"

            "Myu! Myu!" cried Tama-chan.

            From the threshold of the living room, Shinobu stole away as the questions were still being chaotically hurled at Mutsumi.  She broke out into tears as she raced down the hall and took refuge in her room.  

            Shinobu's mind buzzed with a multitude of thoughts, each one demanding predominance.  How was she to set things right with her friends?  Would they still be her friends if she went to the prom with Keitaro?  How could she still go to the dance with Keitaro?  How would they treat Keitaro when he returned home?  But as much as she tried to anchor her thoughts, they just violently raged against each other and her, making her cry even more bitterly.

            She didn't want to cry.  She honestly didn't.  She had never seen Narusegawa-sempai weep, and perhaps that's why Keitaro loved her so much, because she was so strong and gifted.  She was not only an intelligent Todai student, but she had so much beauty that it almost pained Shinobu just to look at her   Narusegawa-sempai had a posture that was tall, stately, and statuesque.  She had graceful, streaming hair that seemed to shimmer like a skein of silk, and part and ripple like fields of wheat under the play of a summer breeze.  But perhaps most agonizing of all, Narusegawa-sempai's chest seemed like an effortless, constant, and humiliating taunt directed at Shinobu.  She no longer wanted her uniform to fall flatly against her body.  She no longer wanted Keitaro to lust over Narusegawa-sempai.  She no longer wanted to be a child.  But all she could do was watch as her tears fell upon her desk.

            Shinobu arose from her desk and took her futon from her closet, spread it against the floor, and lay down upon it.  She almost waited for Keitaro to come through the door, lie down beside her, and wipe her tears away.  She longed to tell him that he needn't be shy around her, and that he needn't hide his feelings any longer.  Unlike Narusegawa-sempai, she would always be gentle to him, and unlike the hesitant and shifty Narusegawa-sempai, he would always have her to love.  Often, late at night or upon waking in the morning, she would dream about Keitaro entering the privacy of her room, laying down beside her, and holding her.  What did it mean to be grown up, Shinobu asked herself.  Perhaps Keitaro-sempai could show her . . .

            But almost immediately, Shinobu was revolted by her own filthy, carnal fantasies.  They just proved how immature she really was, she thought: she was escaping into her dreams instead of trying to figure out how to make things right.

            But for Shinobu, it was more than a need for mere physical intimacy; she wanted to believe that he understood her, and he would come to save her from her classmates, her parents, Narusegawa-sempai, and most of all, from her own pain and loneliness, and somehow she believed that Keitaro could still reconcile her with the other members of Hinata Sou.  

            She closed her eyes and once again summoned the impression of Keitaro's warm embrace.  She never wanted to wake, she thought.  After all, why should she stop dreaming about him?

* * *

            The sound of knocking roused Shinobu from slumber.  

            "Shinobu-chan, would you like some dinner?  I made it for you."

            Shinobu recognized Mutsumi's voice immediately.  

            "I'm sorry about this afternoon . . . If you'd only give me a minute, I'd like to . . . I'm just really sorry, Shinobu-chan."

            Shinobu didn't move from her futon.

            "I'll just leave your tray here."

            Shinobu heard the sound of a clack as Mutsumi placed the tray on the floor and walked away.  Quickly, Shinobu slid her door open, pounced on her tray and brought it into her room, as though it were like stalked prey.

            In her room, she placed her tray on her desk.  It had been quite a while since Mutsumi had last prepared a meal, and Shinobu had forgotten how exceptional a cook Mutsumi was.  As the eldest child, her mother back home on Okinawa had depended on her to help with much of the housework.  She realized that Mutsumi must miss her numerous siblings dearly.  Her adjustment to life away from them must have been difficult, just as it had been difficult for Shinobu to learn to live with people her own age when she had first had begun to board at Hinata Sou.

            She took the plate of curry off of the tray and set it on her desk.  Beneath the tray, she noticed a small white envelope.  She opened it and found her prom ticket inside.  She read the names on the card again:  _Maehara-Shinobu_ and _Urashima-Keitaro._  She recalled how, like a charm, those names side by side had brought her so much pleasure only a few hours earlier.  Now she realized how petty she had been.  Back in the cafeteria, she just wanted to spite Ikuko and she had jeopardized her most cherished friendships just for the chance to do so.  As she ladled Mutsumi's miso soup and curry into her mouth, she realized that she had won the adolescent war, but at the cost of everything dearest to her.  

            The darkness was faintly falling on Hinata Sou.  Inside, Shinobu stared out as the streets running along Hinata Sou grew quiet and mournful in the darkness that was falling faintly.  She clutched her white ticket.  She peered outside her window to the wooden balcony and no longer saw Motoko training.  Although she had not been in the room at the time, she surely had found out by now.  She was the last to know, and the one person Shinobu most direly wanted not to know, even more than Narusegawa-sempai.  

            She finished her dinner, piled the dishes back onto the tray, and set it outside her door.  She closed the door behind her, slid to the floor, and leaned against the door.  The scent of her dinner spectrally lingered in her room.  She was faintly aware that beneath the overwhelming spices of the curry, and the subtle afterglow of the somehow almost compassionate miso soup, she could sense the anxiety, fear, and hope Mutsumi put into her meal: she could taste her world.  Suddenly, there was the clatter of dishes as the tray was lifted from the floor.  Shinobu quickly rose to her feet, startled but unafraid.  

            It was no doubt Mutsumi.  Shinobu knew that Mutsumi would never deny her any comfort.  Should Shinobu ask her for forgiveness?  Would it matter?  What could Shinobu say to her, that she felt as though she were falling and fading and that Mutsumi was the only one helping her to breathe?  Nothing mattered, Shinobu thought as she turned off the lights and raced back to the security of her futon.

***

            A full day passed and Shinobu had still only left her room to go to school.  In the morning, she made her lunch long before any of the other residents had arisen.  The early hour was when she had first asked Sempai to the prom.  This time, she was alone and intended to remain that way.  

            The day after, she saw Motoko meditating on the wooden balcony.  Shinobu was determined to reach out to at least her.  She opened a drawer and took out the training gi that Motoko had given to her as a gift.  She peeled out of her uniform and slipped on the gi.  From her closet, she found the sheathed sword that Motoko had also given to her.  She slung it on her shoulder and scurried to meet Motoko outside.

            End of Chapter VI, Part I

Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only. 


	7. Chapter 6, Part II: And Then She Kissed...

Last Dance With Shinobu-Chan.

By Project Pegasus

Chapter VI, Part II:  And then She Kissed Her, Her Only Love . . .

***

            In deep meditation, Motoko sat with her legs crossed.  The strain of the last few days traced its lines across her face.  Shinobu was going to the prom with that worm, Keitaro, she thought.  To her, he was hardly a man, and she couldn't find a single reason that the residents of Hinata Sou were falling for him.  Was she the only one who could resist his revolting and insidious infection, she wondered.  She felt revolted by how cowardly and perverted he was.  Before he arrived uninvited, she had been the "man" of the house, and even now, she was more of a "man" than he could ever be.  

            Biology and society had played their pack of tricks: even though she had shown more strength, will, courage, and dedication than he ever could, by virtue of what was between his legs, he had gotten the better of her.   It was an outrage and a crime!  Before practice, while taping her breasts close to her body, she imagined all that she could accomplish had she been born a man.  Her hands were not at all feminine.  They were a remembrance of her father's hands and her grandfather's hands and his father before him.  How she wanted to purge the last remnant of femininity from them until she could uproot a tree with the virility of her masculine heritage alone.  Why should the fact that she was born a woman prevent her from gaining everyone's respect?  

            It was Keitaro who was feminine!  Why should he be considered the "man" when she was like a bull?  He was inept, and kept everything hidden.  She knew he pleasured himself while thinking about Naru; one morning, she heard them screaming at one another when Naru caught him in the act.  Meanwhile, she had never kept anything suppressed.  She had despised Keitaro from the beginning and let everyone know it, including him.  When she was angry and frustrated by his behavior, she would let him know it.  Nothing was hidden.   

            And poor Shinobu.  Motoko had always warned Shinobu of Keitaro's perversions, that _as a man_ _he only wanted one thing from her_.  At times, in her mind, she would play out rescue scenes where she was the warrior from an ancient myth saving the innocent maiden from the evil demon.  She had tried to train Shinobu well, but it was evident to her that she was still young.  Shinobu would have to make her own mistakes.  But even so, Motoko had found Shinobu so impressionable when she first arrived.  As a young girl, she was on the verge of blooming: like melted wax, her shape was still taking form.  Motoko had longed to be a part of Shinobu's transfiguration from an innocent child to a young woman.  She wanted to see something of herself in Shinobu.  Instead, Shinobu had chosen to abandon her for Keitaro!  It was obvious that she had lost Shinobu to an inferior rival and there was nothing she could do about it.  

            What was the demon she saw in Keitaro?  Was it simply the fact that he was a man?  Deep inside, she had always been fearful and resentful of men.  No matter how strong and skilled she was as a swordswoman, men would still own every institution of power in the country, leaving her powerless, prone, and helpless, just like men liked to have their women, Motoko reasoned.  Gone were the days when wielding a katana with insurmountable fury could bring one status, honor, and power.  Greedy, lustful, weak men, she thought.  It was _she_ who was masculine and ascetic, a warrior who had mastered the katana in a time when men were honored for holding a petty office job.  They were indolent and slothful, like . . .  like a pack of turtles.  

            Perhaps that's why turtles had always frightened her.  Something about their luridly phallic heads poking out from their shells, erect, self-serving, and ready to withdraw when they were satisfied with what they had accomplished.  Turtles, she shivered.  Yet there was something almost fascinating about them, just as there was about Keitaro.  Keitaro, she thought languidly to herself.  Lately, she had been . . . No it wasn't true.  Motoko attempted to steer her mind to another subject, the clothes she still needed to fold back in her room, the legend of Achilles and Panthesilia she needed to read for her world literature class, trigonometric equations.  But as much as she evaded it, the more it became undeniable.  

            But why, she wondered.  Surely it wasn't because he was attractive or worthy as a mate.  No.  It went deeper than Keitaro, deeper and more suppressed then even her feelings for him.  At the core of her emotions, further past Keitaro was the silent, submissive image of Shinobu-chan.  It was a set of emotions that Motoko wanted to disown, disavow as not her own.  But even though they were repressed to the furthest recesses of her mind, they could never fade because they were so familiar.  Whenever these emotions for Shinobu confronted Motoko, worming their way through the elaborate fortresses of Motoko's frail psychological defenses, she quivered as the emotions whispered in her ear, embraced her and washed over her trembling soul.  This sensation Motoko felt for nobody else except Shinobu, it was like a lit match within the lips of a shivering tulip.  

            But why was she now manifesting feelings for Keitaro, she wondered.  Shinobu from almost the beginning had loved Keitaro most of all, and she was the most deeply injured by his original lie to her, that he was a Todai student.  He could reach her as a brotherly figure or even as a lover.  If Motoko could only make Keitaro love her, then she could know what it would be like to actually _be_ Shinobu, assume her identity and penetrate her mind so thoroughly that it would seem as though Shinobu and she were one person.  Even if Motoko lusted after Keitaro, it was ultimately Shinobu that was Motoko's the highest aim.  She shifted uncomfortably; she felt as though she were losing control.  Who was she? Who was she?  Who _was_ she?

End of Chapter VI, Part II

Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only. 


	8. Chapter 6, Part III: And Then She Kisse...

Last Dance With Shinobu-Chan.

By Project Pegasus

Chapter 6: Part III

****

            This is nonsense, Motoko told herself as the opened her eyes.  If she could not meditate, she might as well practice, she thought as the door to the wooden balcony was opened and a head poked out.  It was Shinobu.

            "Aoyama-semapi,"  Shinobu said hesitantly, "may I practice with you?"

            "Shinobu," Motoko said coldly.  She continued to execute her exercises, her sword flashing and dancing above her head.  "I haven't seen you out here in a while."

            Motoko continued to practice, ignoring Shinobu.

            "Aoyama-sempai, please, I'd like to practice with you today," Shinobu begged.

            It's ok, Shinobu, I know you have better things to do." Motoko replied between her sword strokes.

            Crestfallen, Shinobu turned to leave.

            "Wait Shinobu," Motoko conceded halfheartedly, "Come on.  I hope you've been practicing."

            Shinobu turned around, her face alight with the joy of Motoko's acceptance.  She took her place along side Motoko and began to mimic her movements.  Shinobu felt proud, yet quaked in the shadow of such an imposing warrior as Motoko.  Out of the corner of her eye, Motoko watched to guarantee that Shinobu's form was correct.

            "No, no Shinobu, you're doing it wrong," Motoko protested.  "Here," she said as she went behind Shinobu's back.  Motoko gently placed one hand on Shinobu's hip and one hand on her torso.  "You see," she instructed, "Pivot your waist like this.  That's where most of your power comes from."  Shinobu noticed that Motoko's sturdy hands clutched her almost tenderly but shook a bit as they guided her motion.  "And keep your upper body motionless." Shinobu felt the warmth and weight of Motoko's hand as it pressed into her side.    "See, easy.  Understand?"

            Shinobu nodded her head.

            "Are you sure you understand what I'm trying to do?"

            "I understand," Shinobu said, "I keep my upper body straight and pivot my waist, right?"

            "Yes.  Right," Motoko said a bit flustered.  She reassumed her position beside Shinobu, and the two practiced in synchronization and silence once more.    

            But she was sure that Shinobu didn't understand what she was trying to do, and she wasn't even sure that she wanted Shinobu to know.  So many of the other residents had found their first loves while boarding at Hinata Sou.  Naru had fallen for Seta.  Shinobu and Mutsumi had found Keitaro.  It was part of their growing up.  What could be more pure than a first love?  But her first love would have to be a part of her life that she could never reveal to anybody.  Perhaps she would never marry, remain celibate, and would inherit the ancient family dojo, but she could never disgrace her family by . . . by . . .  "Stop it!  I must concentrate," Motoko thought to herself. 

            Motoko again peered over at Shinobu imitating her movements.  Motoko quickly looked forward again into the distance, into what seemed like an eternity.  Were these tears welling up in her . . .?  No, no.  None of it was true.  The most she could do was love Keitaro, she told herself insistently.  Yes, _Keitaro _was her first love.  Her sister had fallen in love with a man.  That was natural.  And it was natural for Shinobu and Mutsumi to be infatuated with Keitaro because they were women and he was a man.  Keitaro helplessly lusted after Naru, a shameful and weak trait of his, but it was natural.  Men with women.  Women with men.  Man arose from the red earth, woman from the rib of man.  From a man and a woman come children.  From children come the future.   The future: cities, glass, wire, steel, concrete, all human inventions.  Love: a human creation as well, and there wasn't a sliver of deviation for anything else, she told herself with painful confidence, not even for her.

            Motoko paused in her exercises.  "Shinobu," Motoko said with hesitation, "You know, we've never sparred before."  Motoko wasn't even sure of her own intentions.

            "No I suppose we haven't," Shinobu responded, her voice at once alarmed, confused, cautious, but trusting.  

            "Well, would you like to do it?"  Motoko said calmly even though she was even more frightened of what she might do than Shinobu was.  "Sparring I mean of course.  I think that I've taught you well.  It's just the next step in your training.  We'll go a few easy rounds. OK?"

            Shinobu nodded her head in acquiescence.  Motoko took a few steps away from Shinobu and called out, "Ready?"

            Again, Shinobu gave a timid nod.  She gripped the halt of her katana.  She knew that even though Motoko had been her sensei, she as nowhere near her level of skill.  An eddy of distresses began to pool in her mind and her body would alternately shake and stiffen.  But what would she have to worry about, Shinobu tried to convince herself.  After all, Aoyama-sempai would never hurt her, she reasoned.

            Motoko was eerily calm even though not even she knew what was going to happen.  Shinobu held back in the defensive position Motoko had taught her.  But even so, Shinobu's stance was defective and stilted.  Motoko had attempted to refine Shinobu's defensive position on a number of occasions, but it was evident that Shinobu still had not learned anything; she had not changed Shinobu.

            "From the rib of a man . . ." Motoko thought.  "It would be nice to just curl up, thin as a rib, once again within the side of Man," she reflected, but she knew that it was too late for her.  She stared at Shinobu.  

            What did she want from Shinobu, she asked.  Not even she knew.  Something vague, but insistent and immediate.  She wanted Shinobu to at least understand her.  

            She lunged toward Shinobu and took two swipes at her.  Shinobu timidly but almost by reflex blocked the strokes, motivated by an animal instinct to survive.  Motoko backed away as Shinobu's eyes dilated with fear.

            "Aoyama-sempai," Shinobu said in wonderment, "you're not holding back are you?"

            "Shinobu," Motoko shouted ignoring her, "your posture is all wrong!"  Motoko once again dived at Shinobu, dispatching a salvo of strikes against her.  Each time Motoko's sword collided against Shinobu's, Shinobu let out a small scream of terror.  Motoko finally relented and leapt back, assuming a defensive position and sizing up Shinobu.

            "Aoyama-sempai," Shinobu pleaded, "That's enough!  Please, I'm not ready for this.  I don't want to do this!  I can't do what you want me to do!"  But Motoko had begun to charge her once again.

            "Your posture is wrong!" Motoko reasserted as she came within striking distance and began to swing away furiously at Shinobu.  "I've taught it to you a million times!  Why won't you listen to me?" she cried.  "Why can't you understand what I'm trying to say to you!?"

            "I understand," Shinobu was able to squeak out as she alternately dodged and blocked Motoko's onslaught.

            "No!" Motoko shrilled as her blade reached for Shinobu again and again relentlessly seeking its target, "You aren't listening to me!  Why can't you understand me?!"  Motoko's face grimaced with a rage beyond control, yet it was somehow tinged with melancholy.  "Listen to me!"  Her swings became agonizingly intense as Shinobu submissively defended herself as best she could. "Listen to me!" she shouted in anguish, "_Listen to me_!"

            Motoko leaned backward as she struck at Shinobu with all her might, breaking Shinobu's sword at its base.  Shinobu screamed prodigiously in a riotously bloody aria of fear and death, as though this was her last source of defense.  Motoko grabbed Shinobu's uniform and maliciously gave her a judo hip toss, sending her hurtling toward the ground and landing awkwardly upon her side.  After shaking off her daze, she stared up at Motoko, who was pointing her katana at Shinobu's head.

            "Aoyama-sempai," Shinobu meekly whispered, "Don't act like I don't understand you."

            Motoko was taken aback by this.  She took a tentative step backward, not daring to take her eyes off Shinobu.  Shinobu's eyes were uncharacteristically tranquil as she lay on the floor, looking up at her.  Motoko continued to back away, perplexed and alarmed by Shinobu's gaze; it twinkled with empathy or perhaps even recognition.  When she reached the door, she turned around and silently walked inside.

End of Chapter VI, Part III

Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only. 


	9. Chapter 6, Part IV: And Then She Kissed...

Last Dance With Shinobu-Chan.

By Project Pegasus

Chapter VI, Part IV:  And then She Kissed Her, Her Only Love . . . 

***

            Later that afternoon, Shinobu sat in her room nursing her side.  By that time, it had already begun to swell and discolor.  After the incident with Motoko, Shinobu had written a brief letter to Keitaro asking him to come to her room.  She realized that she had not even spoken to Keitaro these last few days.  She was going to tell him that their date to the prom was off.  Up until this point, she had not realized that her actions had hurt so many people.  She was willing to admit defeat to all of her tormentors at school rather than be cruel to her true friends.  There was a knock at her door.

            "Keitaro?" Shinobu asked.

            "It's me," Keitaro called out.  The door slid open and Shinobu welcomed Keitaro in.  "You said you wanted to see me?"

            "Sempai," Shinobu said lowering her head, "I don't think we should go to the prom together."  She paused and attempted to still her overpowering regret.  "Sempai, I asked you to the prom because there were some kids at school who were teasing me about not having a date to the prom.  I only said that you were my date so they wouldn't think that I was a little kid.  I used you Sempai so I don't think that my dishonestly should be rewarded."  

            They were both silent for a moment.  "Shinobu I don't think that you . . . "

            "No sempai," Shinobu interrupted, "I've made up my decision.  It's in everyone's best interest."

            "No Shinobu," Keitaro said, "you can't make this decision on your own because I'm not going to have another traumatic experience come from a junior high school prom."

            "Sempai," Shinobu said timidly, "what do you mean?"

            "I've never told anybody else this story, Shinobu," Keitaro ruminated, "but when I was your age, the kids picked on me at school too.  They all thought that I was a loser so I tried to prove them wrong by getting a date to the graduation prom.  And not just any date either: Yoko Yokohama, one of the most popular girls in school.  When I heard that she had recently broken up with her boyfriend, Makoto, a rugby player, I thought that was the break I needed.  I was so nervous when I asked her out because I thought that I would be rejected for sure, but to my surprise, she agreed to go to the dance with me.  I thought, 'For the first time in my life, I had a girlfriend!'  You have no idea how excited I was, a social reject like me going to the dance with Yoko Yokohama.  When the time came, we went to the school rugby game together before going to the prom.  The first half of the prom was great.  The whole time, we only danced the slow dances and when we weren't dancing, we sat down and she made the cutest faces at me.  The whole time, though, she kept looking at her old boyfriend, Makoto.  I was pretty glad that she was looking out for me.  He looked pretty upset that Yoko had gotten over him so quickly."

            Shinobu sat silent, not daring to disturb Keitaro's delusion.

            Keitaro continued.  "Luckily, Makoto left after Yoko and I really started getting affectionate.  After that, I thought that Yoko and I would be able to enjoy each other's company without having to worry about him, but for some reason, she became very distant after that.  It's like she didn't even remember that I was there.  Anyway, a slow song began to play and I asked her if wanted to dance.  She held her stomach and said she felt sick and needed to use the bathroom.  As she was leaving, she said that if she didn't come back in a while, then don't worry and don't come looking for her.  After she left, I waited there for a few hours, watching other couples dance or flirt or fight.  The time came and passed away and she still hadn't returned.  The disc jockey announced that the last dance would be played in a few minutes.  I promised that I wouldn't go looking for her, but I had to have at least the last dance if nothing else.  I asked my classmates if she was in the restroom and they said no.  I searched up and down the halls and corridors with no luck.  I could hear the D.J. say that the last song was being played.  I had never heard the song before, but it was so intoxicating and hypnotic.  Later, I learned from the D.J. that it was a song called _Wild Horses _from a British band The Sundays.  Anyway, as the song was being played, I became more and more frantic.  I needed that last dance.  In a lonely corner of the building, I finally saw Yoko coming out of a broom closet with . . ."  His voice trailed off.

            "With Makoto?" Shinobu asked hesitantly.

            "Well actually," Keitaro said sheepishly while scratching the back of his head, "with a goat."

            "What?!"  Shinobu screamed.

            "No! No, you don't understand," Keitaro interjected quickly, "The mascot for our rugby team was a guy in a goat suit."

            This still did not put Shinobu at ease.

            "Well," Keitaro said, "I didn't know what to do in a situation like that.  I don't really think anybody would know what to do, but for some reason I began to run towards her.  She looked alarmed and began to run down the hall.  Along the way, they knocked over trashcans and tables as they passed by them.  I dodged them as best I could.  I don't even know what I would have done if I had caught them, but I told myself that I just couldn't lose them.  This whole time, _Wild Horses_ was playing in the background like the sad soundtrack to my life.  Finally, they got out of the building and they hopped into a small cart that the golf team used.  They throttled it but when I grabbed the back of the bumper, they couldn't go anywhere.  The guy in the goat suit began to panic and he picked up a golf club that was sitting in the back of the cart and began to bludgeon me mercilessly.  I finally was knocked to the ground as they sped away.  I think I lost consciousness because I don't remember seeing them make their escape down the road, but when I began to regain my bearings, I heard the final chords of _Wild Horses_ being strummed.  I picked myself up and walked home alone."  Keitaro fell silent for a while.

            "Sempai," Shinobu said almost maternally, "What did she say the next day?"

            "Well," Keitaro went on, "The next day I didn't even feel like demanding an explanation, but she came up to me and said that she had found Kiyoshi, the guy in the goat suit, in the broom closet.  Apparently, she said, the head of his goat suit had been knocked out of joint.  As a result, he couldn't get the head off and it was suffocating him.  That's why they took the golf cart, she said, because she needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible."

            "Oh my," Shinobu said sympathetically, "Sempai, how did you cope with such a pack of lies?"

            "What lies?" Keitaro replied with a perplexed look on his face.

            "Oh nothing Sempai," Shinobu said quickly, "Please continue."

            "Anyway, even though I was abandon for an honorable purpose, I still am disappointed that I didn't get to have that last dance."  Keitaro looked to Shinobu.  "Shinobu," Keitaro said with anxiety and longing in his eyes, "I need to make it right.  Please help me."

            "Sempai," Shinobu said quietly, "You know that I'd do anything for you."

            A smile of gratitude played across Keitaro's face.  

            "After all, that's what friends do, right Sempai?"  Shinobu said cheerfully.  

            "Right." Keitaro agreed, "And we are going to the prom as just friends in any case, right?" 

            "Of course Sempai, what else could we be going as?" Shinobu stuttered nervously.

             Both were quiet and looked away for an awkward moment, a torrent of expression seething beneath their silence.

            "Hey," Keitaro said, emphatically breaking the lull, "We should tell the others everything.  You're side of the story, my side of the story . . . "

            "Maybe," Shinobu interrupted politely, "Maybe we should only tell them my side of the story, that the kids were picking on me and that I called you my date out of anger."

            "Why?" Keitaro asked.

            "Ummm," Shinobu said searchingly, "Because your side of the story will be our little secret."

            "A secret then," Keitaro said with a gentle smile.

***

            Shinobu and Keitaro walked together to Naru's room and began to knock on her door.  There was no answer.  

            "Neither of us has spoken to her for three days," Keitaro said grimly.

            "Do you think that she's just ignoring us?" Shinobu anxiously asked.

            Keitaro continued to knock.  Suddenly, the door slid open and they came face-to-face with Naru.

            "We have to speak with you, Narusegawa-sempai," Shinobu pleaded.

End of Chapter VI

Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only. 


	10. Chapter 7, Part I: Perestroika

Last Dance With Shinobu-Chan

By Project Pegasus

Chapter 7, Part I:  Perestroika

            "Shinobu, you didn't have you hide out this whole time.  It's been three days already," Naru said, putting her hand on Shinobu's shoulder.  "I understand perfectly.  You did what you felt you had to do to make those kids leave you alone.  That's fine.  Thank you for explaining everything to me.  You didn't have to, but I really appreciate the fact that you did."  Naru gave Shinobu a sisterly smile as they arose from the floor.  "You're going to be coming out of your room from now on, right Shinobu?" Naru asked as they walked to the door.

            "Yes Narusegawa-sempai," Shinobu said while nodding her head.  

            "We'd love to stay, Naru," Keitaro told her, "but we still have to talk to everyone else.  Goodbye."

            "Goodbye," Naru said amiably as she slid her door close.  When the door was shut, Naru continued to smile to herself.  She opened the door and peeked down the hall.  Both Shinobu and Keitaro had already turned the corner and were out of sight.  She closed the door as the smile ran away from her face.  Outside, she could still see Motoko's silhouette outlined against the blood red sunset, tilting, parrying, and thrusting furiously against an unseen foe.  Alone and determined, it was as though she prowled Hinata Sou like a lion, and was foreboding like a wronged god on the verge of exacting a terrible revenge.  Naru clenched her fist and slammed it against the wall.  The books and pens on her desk were startled by her outburst and gave a slight jump.  She held her fist there, relishing the sensation of deadened nerve cells as the shock reverberated through her hand and lower arm.  She stared forward, her teeth gritted and her body trembling with insuppressible wrath and jealousy.  

*

*            *

            Shinobu sat at her desk, poring over her books in preparation for her finals when there came a knock at her door.  "Urashima-san?" Shinobu asked.

            "Hello Shinobu it's me," replied Haruka from beyond the door, "And how many times do I have to tell you, just call me Haruka."

            Shinobu rose from her chair and slid open the door for Aunt Haruka, who was carrying a black garment bag.  

            "Hello Urashima . . ." Shinobu corrected herself before continuing, "Hello Haruka.  Thank you very much I really am grateful for this," Shinobu said cordially.

            "Shinobu don't worry about it," Haruka replied, "I'm going out to lunch with Naru, Mitsune, Motoko, and Mutsumi this afternoon anyway so it's not out of my way.  You're still invited too, you know?"

            Shinobu shook her head and politely declined. "No thank you," she said.  Shinobu was still wary of the other girls even though both Keitaro and she had spoken to them all.

            "Well, suit yourself.  Here's what I promised you," she said.  She unzipped the black bag and removed a dark green prom dress from it.  The dress was a bit dated in style, but Shinobu wasn't at all concerned about that.  "This is my old prom dress from my junior high school days.  Days so young, then they're gone," Haruka reflected as she looked wistfully at Shinobu.  "Would you like me to leave the room while you change?" she asked

            Shinobu nodded her head, "Yes please, if that would be ok with you."

            "Sure, I need to take a smoke break anyway," Haruka, said while taking out her pack of unfiltered Lucky Strike cigarettes.  "I know you've probably heard this a million times, but never live waste your youth, Shinobu."  She paused and put a cigarette in her mouth before continuing,  "But don't things that you'll regret later.  If I were your age again, I never would take up smoking.  I would also have looked elsewhere for a prospective husband."  

            "I didn't know you had a boyfriend, Haruka," Shinobu said, trying not to sound too intrusive.

            "Oh never mind," Haruka said brusquely, "Oh well, I guess things just never measure up like they're supposed to," Haruka said regretfully.  "I can't believe I'm starting to feel my age already!  Don't tell anyone I'm talking like this.  It's just between us _girls_, right?" she chucked ruefully as she left the room and closed the door behind her.

            Shinobu shed her school uniform and slipped on Haruka's prom dress.  Even while she was pulling the dress up, Shinobu noticed that it did not seem to feel right.  The upper body area of the dress was too loose, especially in the chest area.  When she had pulled the dress up as far as it could have gone, she was dismayed to find that much of the hem remained crumpled on the ground.  She struggle to walk across her floor but could hardly step without nearly tripping on the portion of the full skirt that trailed on the ground.  Shinobu was careful not to trip, though, for fear of landing on the injury Motoko had given her.  As she shifted, she couldn't keep the top of her dress from sliding down her front.  She gazed at herself in the mirror.  She was almost comically pathetic.  Haruka was such a confident woman and was probably very mature physically and emotionally when she was just a junior high school student, Shinobu thought to herself.  She simply couldn't compete with Haruka.  The shadow of Haruka's prom dress was more than enough to humble Shinobu.  Meekly, she stripped off the gown and put on her favorite "Cabot" sweatshirt and a skirt.  She replaced the gown into the garment bag and laid it on her bed.  A while later, Haruka knocked on Shinobu's door.  "Shinobu, are you ready?" she called out.

            "Yes," Shinobu said somberly as Haruka entered.

            Haruka wore a confused expression when she saw that Shinobu wasn't wearing the dress.  "Shinobu, is everything all right?  You didn't like the dress?"

            "No, no Haruka, it isn't that.  The dress was lovely, but it didn't fit me.  That's all."

            "Oh, Shinobu, I'm so sorry about that.  Is there anything I can do for you?" Haruka asked sympathetically.

            "I'll be ok; don't worry.  You've already been too kind to me.  Thank you so much Haruka." Shinobu said. She gave a small bow to Haruka.

            "Well, if there is anything I can do, just say the word, o.k. Shinobu?  I have such fond memories of my junior high school graduation prom.  I felt so grown-up that night, like I had become a woman.  I just want to make sure you have a good time too."

            "Thank you, Haruka." Shinobu said once more.

*

*            *

            Later that afternoon, Shinobu had poured herself a glass of water and was on her way back to her room when Koalla and Sara stopped her in the hall.

            "Hello Koalla, Sara," Shinobu said cheerfully, "Is something wrong?"

            "No nothing is wrong," Koalla said, "We'd just like to show you something that you may be interested in.  Come on."

            Koalla led Shinobu to her room.  Along the way she spoke to Shinobu, careful not to betray the fact that Haruka had revealed Shinobu's inadequacy.  "I have a little 'accessory' that you may find desirable.  Think of this as my little contribution to your date with Keitaro," she said slyly.  Koalla felt sorry that Shinobu had always felt lacking in her womanhood, and she knew that after the disastrous and ill-fated Announcement, Shinobu was feeling depressed or at least exhausted.  The incident with Haruka's dress was no doubt a harsh blow after so much strife.  Koalla had gone to middle school with Shinobu and remembered that her classmates had always gives her a tough time.  When Shinobu and Koalla had gone to the same junior high school, she constantly had to defend Shinobu from her tormenters.  But now that Koalla had graduated from junior high school, Shinobu was on her own.  Shinobu's other friends were eerily inexpressive and detached, and there was no way any of them would stand up for themselves, let alone Shinobu.  Not only that, but in addition, Koalla had spent so much time being mischievous with Sara or hanging on Keitaro that she had largely stopped spending time with Shinobu.  She felt a twinge of guilt as she continued to speak.  "So how's Hotaru?  Does she still have those fainting spells?" she asked.

            "She still has them," Shinobu said, "But other than that, she has been fine."

            "Wasn't there another girl you used to hang around?" Koalla asked,  "What was her name again?  Lain?"

            "Who is Lain?" Sara piped in. 

            "Yes, her name was Lain," Shinobu confirmed.

            "What happened to her anyway?" Koalla asked.

            "It's kind of a long story," Shinobu said.  They fell into an uneasy silence, but by that time they had reached Koalla's room.  She slid the door open and invited Shinobu inside.

            In the middle of Koalla's room rested the bust of a mannequin clad with only a black bra.  Koalla unsnapped the bra from the mannequin and walked up to Shinobu.  

            "Shinobu," Koalla said holding the bra out to her, "Put this on.  Sara and I'll leave the room and wait for you."

            "Koalla, I don't think that a push-up . . ." Shinobu began to object fretfully before being interrupted.

            "Trust me Shinobu," Koalla assured her, "This will change your life."  Koalla and Sara exited the room and slid the door close.

            Shinobu unbuttoned her shirt while examining the bra.  At first, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, but then she noticed that the lining of it was rather odd.  It seemed stronger than any fabric she had ever felt and the padding seemed stiff and brittle.  Nevertheless, she followed Koalla's commands, though not without some reservations.  While putting it on, Shinobu once again noticed the tender bruise that Motoko had given her.  After she had buttoned her shirt, she called to Koalla and Sara.

            Koalla reentered the room with a broad gin on her face.  She held a remote control and pointed it at Shinobu's chest.

            "Watch this!" she said, making no attempt to conceal her excitement.  She pushed a button and suddenly, Shinobu's bra began to rumble.  Shinobu gave a small scream as Koalla began to explain.  "You see Shinobu, this bra is the answer to your problems!  I made it just this morning!"

            Shinobu noticed that the cups of her bra began to grow.  

            "Koalla, what is going in?" Shinobu said, frightened.

            "Located in the padding are tiny microprocessors that produce certain chemicals when instructed by this remote control.  The chemicals combine to produce a substance that bounces and seems natural to the touch!  Plus, now you can fit into any dress you want!" 

            "Why don't I just stuff my bra with socks!?" Shinobu screamed as the bra continued to rumble and her chest began to bulge from beneath her shirt.  

            "I just told you," Koalla said, "Socks don't bounce and they don't feel natural to the touch.  Besides they could fall out!"

            "Bounce?!  Fell natural to the touch?!  Who is going to be staring at my chest, let alone touching . . ."  Shinobu broke off before finishing her sentence.  She stared indignantly at Koalla, who had a sheepish grim on her face.  "No," Shinobu said when she apprehended whom Koalla had in mind, "No, Koalla!  Sempai is not like that!  We told you yesterday, we're just going as friends!  Nothing more!"  Shinobu gaped at her expanding bosom with apprehension as Koalla answered her.

            "Oh come on Shinobu," Koalla said while smiling, "You know that even when men say that, they only want one thing.  Look at the facts, Keitaro drools all over Naru and she's at least a C cup.  With my invention you'll be in a Double E league of your own!  You know, I would be overjoyed if you and Keitaro were to . . ."  But just then, a button from Shinobu's bulging shirt exploded from its place and collided viciously with Koalla's forehead.  Koalla crumpled to the floor as the remote control slid from her hand.  Sara knelt to check on Koalla as Shinobu rushed to her side.  

            "She seems ok," Shinobu said, "just stunned."  She picked up the remote from nearby Koalla's hand and read the buttons.  "I don't know how this thing works," Shinobu said in a panic.  Sara swiped the remote from Shinobu's hands.

            "Let me try," she said.

            "No don't!"  But Shinobu's protestation came too late as Sara began to press the buttons as fast as she could in rapid succession.

            "What are you doing?!" Shinobu cried.

            "Well if I press the buttons as fast as possible, one of them is sure to work, right?" Sara chuckled with a devious look on her face.  Suddenly, Shinobu's bra began to grow at dangerous levels, bursting from her shirt.

            "Sara, stop it right now!  Do you hear me?"  Sara had been intent on the remote, but at Shinobu's outburst, she looked up.  

            At the same time, though, Shinobu had swiveled to face Sara.  The tip of Shinobu's bra caught Sara in the wrong way and she screamed, "Owww! My eye."  Sara dropped the remote and it shattered when it made contact with the ground.  

            While Koalla lie unconscious on the ground and while Sara stumbled around holding her eye, Shinobu yelled, "How do we stop this thing?!"  It was then that Shinobu noticed that her eyes were beginning to water and she smelled something burning.  She peered down at her bra only to see that it had begun to smoke and that the internal computer had begun to sizzle and malfunction.  Quickly, she unfastened the bra, opened a window and hurled it as far as she could.  She had just breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed that Keitaro, who had been sweeping nearby, had gone to examine the smoking, short-circuiting bra. 

            "Sempai, no!  Get away!  It's dangerous!"  Shinobu hollered to Keitaro.

            Keitaro heard Shinobu but was too far to comprehend what she was saying.  He simply looked up at Shinobu and waved to her with a smile on his face before returning his attention to the hazardously malfunctioning bra.

            Suddenly, the bra began to glow and vibrate.  This only further intrigued Keitaro who had a puzzled look on his face as he continued to scrutinize it.  There was a flash of heat and light as Shinobu ducked down and leapt away from the window.  Shinobu could fell the explosion through the wall as it rocked the rest of Hinata Sou.  She ducked and covered her head as she heard books falling from Koalla's bookshelf and items falling from her desk.  The glass from the window shattered and fell to the floor in a rain of glittering shards.  After the bra had detonated and when Shinobu was sure it was safe, she hurried to the window only to see Keitaro sailing into the distance.

            Shinobu put her shirt back on and buttoned it as best she could before leaving the room.  She went to the kitchen and filled two bags with ice before returning to Koalla's room.  By this time, Sara was still covering her eye with her hand and staggering blindly around the room.  Shinobu took her by the hand, and sat her down next to Koalla.  She placed the bag of ice on Koalla's head where the button had made its impact.  She then turned to Sara.  "Lay down," she said gently to her.  She did as she was told and rested her head on Shinobu's lap.

            Shinobu placed the bag of ice over Sara's eye.  When the bag first touched her eye, she flinched and she tensed up her body.  But soon her body was put to rest and her muscles no longer fought the raw throb of the bag of ice.  Sara, usually so resistant to sitting still for any length of time, gave no resistance to Shinobu, not even when the ice began to sting and numb the area around her eye.  

            It was then that Sara felt like crying but couldn't figure out why.  Had the explosion frightened her?  No, it wasn't that.  She then remembered what she had struggled so hard to repress.  Sara had lived so long without a mother.  She had her father who had a good heart, but he was absent-minded and cared more for thousand-year-old artifacts than for his own daughter.  Sara reminded herself of how he had unceremoniously dumped her at Hinata Sou without discussing it with her or even mentioning it to her before hand.  Who was her mother anyway and what was she like?  Her father didn't even respect her enough to discuss it with her.  Perhaps Shinobu would make a good mother someday, Sara thought to herself as Shinobu's lap and the bitter chill of the ice brought their own sort of peace and solitude.  

End of Chapter 7, Part I.

Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only. 


	11. Chapter 7, Part II: Perestroika

Last Dance With Shinobu-chan.

By Project Pegasus

Chapter 7, Part II:  Perestroika

            There was a quiet rap on the door as a soft voice came wafting through, "Shinobu? Shinobu, are you in?"  There was no response.  The door slid open and Mutsumi surreptitiously entered.  She quickly surveyed the room, and when she was sure that Shinobu was out, she approached Shinobu's dresser and opened a drawer.  She rummaged through a set of Shinobu's slacks before closing the drawer and proceeding to another, this time inspecting her shirts before finally inspecting the drawer with her undergarments.  Mutsumi carefully replaced everything, closed the drawers and silently departed from Shinobu's room.  

*

*            *

            With both arms crowded with brimming brown paper bags, Mitsune struggled to open the bathroom door.  Holding the bags close to her side, she cautiously turned the knob of the door and flung it open, propping it open with her foot as she entered.  In a huff, she set the bags on the counter and turned to lean out the door.  "Shinobu!  Shinobu, I'm back!  Let's get started!"  Mitsune returned her attention to the bags and began to remove their contents before Shinobu appeared in the doorway.  

            "Mitsune, thank you for doing this for me," Shinobu said.

            "No problem Shinobu," Mitsune assured her, "I know that you're in a bind."

            "I'm sorry I can't pay you back right now.  Just give me a few . . . " Shinobu began humbly.

            "Don't even mention it Shinobu.  This is my gift to you, ok?"  Mitsune said with a hint of impishness in her voice.

            Mitsune took Shinobu by the shoulders and set her in front of the mirror.

            "Look into the mirror, Shinobu," she said as they both looked forward into the mirror, "Do you see that?"

            "It's me?" Shinobu answered cautiously.

            "No," Mitsune replied, "I see a prom queen."  She placed her chin on Shinobu's shoulder as they continued to stare into the mirror.

            "Mitsune," Shinobu pleaded, "you don't have to try to make me feel any better. I know that . . . "

            "Shhh!  Shhh!  Shhh! Shh!" Mitsune hissed in rapid succession as she barred Shinobu's mouth with her hand, "I hear a prom queen deep inside of you.  Can you hear her, Shinobu?  Can you hear her?"  Mitsune's eyes grew wide in orgiastic fanaticism as Shinobu stared at Mitsune with dread.  Not waiting for a response, Mitsune continued, "Of course you don't hear her.  She's buried so deep within you that it's impossible.  But I hear her.  Oh yes I do!  And by my honor, I vow that I will liberate her!"  Her voice began to tremble in anticipation. "I will overcome, no matter the cost!  Are you with me Shinobu?!" Mitsune cried in delight.  "Of course you are!  I knew I could count on you!" Mitsune said, again disregarding the fact that she was covering Shinobu's mouth.  "I went to the store and bought the best for you," she chattered, "This is the stuff I would wear to my junior high school graduation prom."  She reached over and placed a nearby stool in front of the mirror.  She sat Shinobu down as she continued in a furor, "Look at the makeup I bought just for you!"  She unfurled a sheet and wrapped it around Shinobu to protect her clothes from the makeup.  Mitsune picked up a compact from the counter, opened it, removed a slender brush from a compartment and began to rub it into a crimson cake of rouge. 

            "What is that?" Shinobu asked, distressed.

            "It's blush," Mitsune said while dabbing some on her face.  

            "But why is it so," she paused, searching for the right word, "heavy?"

            "Silly," Mitsune admonished, "tonight, you want the boys to see that you're healthy, right?  If you don't want to look anemic, then you need a good flush in the cheeks."

            "I suppose," Shinobu acquiesced, "but you're putting so much on."  A swirling cherry-colored powder clouded about Shinobu's head in an angry, lingering flurry.   The Shinobu gave a modest sneeze and almost felt the layered makeup shift on her face.  

            "Ok that should be enough," Mitsune said as she put the brush back in the compact, "Now for the eye shadow.  This shade has always brought me good luck.  Here, take a look."  She handed Shinobu a thin, black, circular container.  On the side Shinobu read the ominous words, "Nashville Allure." 

            "I don't know if this shade will go well with, ummm . . . "  Shinobu knew she had to choose her words well.  Should she say her hair, her dress, her eye color, she asked herself.  She finally decided to complete her phrase with, " . . . anything."

            "Nonsense," Mitsune asked as she leaned over and began to smear the eye shadow on Shinobu's eyelids, "Trust me, Nashville Allure will draw men by the fly of their pants."

            "Eye shadow can do that?"  Shinobu asked as she stared into the mirror, attempting to discern what was so tempting about a bit of goo covering her eyelids.

            "Sure," Mitsune assured her, "Men are simple creatures.  Oh, by the way, do you want to see your dress?  I picked it out personally.  Happousai, the old guy I took it from, had some gambling debts he owed me and he couldn't pay them, so he gave me this dress instead."

            "What is an elderly man doing with a prom dress?" Shinobu asked, puzzled.

            "Oh, well, you see," Mitsune stammered before quickly turning away to retrieve a brown paper bag. "Hey you know what?" she asked, hell-bent on changing the subject, "I think that it would fit you perfectly!"  From the bag, Mitsune revealed the prom dress.  Shinobu stared at it, browbeaten into a silent horror broken only when Mitsune goaded her for a response, "Well, do you like it?"

            "It's, ummm, got a lot of bows on it," Shinobu said diplomatically, "I've never seen a dress with so many bows before."

            "I know," Mitsune said enthused, "Isn't it great?  I really like how the fuchsia offsets the orange and yellow.  Oh and he gave me the petticoat that goes with it!"

            Mitsune handed the dress to Shinobu for her inspection.  She had never seen such a dress that went with a petticoat before.  Examining the full petticoat and the obscenely low neckline, Shinobu wondered how she could wear so much and yet so little.  The colors were loud, obnoxious, and dyspeptic all at once.  She tried to imagine herself that night gliding across the dance floor, Keitaro holding her in his arms while she was wearing that dress, but it was impossible.  The scene would have been ridiculous.      

            The dress reminded her of something that might have been worn by a bankrupt Russian duchess having a drunken baron, a lecherous priest, and a petty bureaucrat over for a cup of tea, the tea stale and cooling, and her china filthy and chipped; filthy, like the lurid and vulgar décolletage of the dress.  

            "Tea and broken cups," Shinobu thought.  Once, while visiting her grandmother in Assabu, Shinobu had broken one of her teacups.  How nervous she had been, with her grandmother instructing her on table etiquette, the proper way to fold a napkin, appropriate posture while sitting in a chair, along with a mishmash of disparate rules of conduct: when to eat, when not to eat, what forks were for salads or entrées.  When Shinobu asked her why she needed to learn these elaborate protocols when her family usually ate while sitting on the floor with chopsticks, her grandmother replied, "A true lady is prepared for any situation, Shinobu."

            "Prepared for any situation," Shinobu told herself.  A real woman would be prepared.  If she were prepared for any situation, would that make her a real woman, she asked herself back then.  A real woman would be prepared to dine with dignity in a fancy restaurant.  She was rapt by the possibility her grandmother offered her, the chance to be a true woman, but at the same time she was wracked by anxiety as she attempted to keep the dining rules straight in her mind.

            "Use your forks from outer to inner," she told herself as her grandmother poured her a cup of tea.

            "OK, I also got you a bottle of perfume," Mitsune said, calling Shinobu back to the present.  Mitsune took a dark purple bottle out of a paper bag lying in a corner.  As Mitsune went to retrieve the paper bag, Shinobu was draw back to the memory of her grandmother on that day.

            "Keep your back as upright as possible without looking strained," Shinobu kept in her mind as her grandmother poured herself a cup of tea.

            "With this stuff, you can't fail.  If the blush and eye shadow don't work, this will," Mitsune crooned, unwittingly fighting against Shinobu's grandmother for Shinobu's attention.  

            "A lady must engage in lively and charming conversation with a man over dinner, never too serious lest the man be bored or affronted by her discourse," Shinobu remembered as her grandmother passed her a cup of tea.

            "Plus, I've got some lipstick," Mitsune went on.

            "A woman is demure at all times."

            "Men are pigs, but at least they're stupid enough to be herded like cattle."

            "Laugh at their jokes, always, even if you're not amused."

            "They're all yours, Shinobu.  The boys in your class don't stand a chance.  Keitaro either!"

            "And remember . . ."

            "And never forget . . . "

            " . . . men only want one thing."

            " . . . men only want one thing."

            Her afternoon with her grandmother and Mitsune priming her like a brothel girl . . . what did it mean to be a real woman?  The two voices danced in her head shouting riotously against each other and at Shinobu.  She closed her eyes tightly while clenching her fists, trying desperately to regain control of her own thoughts.  In her memory, she reminded herself of how tense and jittery she had been.  How she wanted to make herself worthy of her grandmother and how she wanted to be a true woman.  She took her cup of tea nervously from her grandmother.  

            Was her posture correct?  

            Was she sipping too loudly?  

            Was she holding the cup correctly?  

            Should she drink with the pinky out or was that ostentatious?

            Ouch!  Hot!

            Shinobu had forgotten to test the heat of her tea.  The delicate porcelain teacup fell to the table and shattered.  The green tea, still steaming, poured and streamed across the tablecloth, staining it as it was absorbed into the sheet.  Shinobu could only cover her face as she did her best to press back her tears.  She was a failure, she told herself.  She would never be a true woman.  She would never get it right, she told herself even as her grandmother consoled her, told her that she was still young, but would have plenty of time to grow up.

            The memories press hotly against Shinobu's mind as Mitsune bedewed her with the cheap, noxious perfume.  It seemed almost rancid as it clung in her nose and wouldn't let go.  With the slutty dress and the cheap makeup and perfume, she knew what was Mitsune pushing her towards.  Would she again try too hard to be a real woman and go too far, Shinobu asked herself.  First time.  They say it hurts.  Why does everything have to hurt for girls?  Even back then, she knew that if you broke your teacup, you would never get it back.  Never.  Never.  Never.  And they say when it is broken a little bit comes out.  She saw it pour out darkly against the sheets, trickling softly over them, staining them irrevocably.  And would she cry this time as well?  

            "No!"  Shinobu screamed.

            "What's wrong?  You don't like the perfume?  I can get a bottle of mine if you want," Mitsune said kindly.

            "No, no you don't understand!  I can't do this!" Shinobu said nervously, her voice escalating in intensity.

            "Shinobu, what's going on?  Don't you want to look nice for your prom, get the boys' attention?  Get Keitaro's attention too?" Mitsune winked.

            "I've got to go," Shinobu said while jumping out of her seat and running toward the door.

            "Wait!  But we didn't even get to try the lipstick," Mitsune said shouted after her, "It's recommended by four out of five Parisian whores!  Parisian whores!  That says class right there!"

            But it was too late.  By that time, Shinobu had already dashed out of the room and down the hall.

End of Chapter 7.

Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only. 


	12. Chapter 8: Glasnost

Last Dance with Shinobu-chan.

By Project Pegasus

Chapter 8: Glasnost

            With the prom just hours away, Shinobu nervously surveyed her state of affairs.  She had no dress, and nobody to do her hair and makeup.  She wouldn't dare ask Naru, Motoko, or Mutsumi to help her with her because she was convinced that they were already quite resentful over the whole prom incident.  Shinobu didn't want to admit it to herself, but after sustaining bruises, trying on dresses that she couldn't fill, flinging away exploding bras, and wearing makeup endorsed by the Continent's finest working girls, she would have to endure one final humiliation.  She opened her drawer and beneath a stack of colorful folders and notebooks, she removed a carefully hidden, slender envelope.  On it was written a short message:  

To my baby girl.  Think of me whenever you use this, sweetheart.

            With love,

                        Daddy.

            "Baby girl," Shinobu thought to herself, "He wants me to be his little baby girl forever." 

            Shinobu had promised herself that she would never use his card because of the condition put on its use:  that she would have to remember him.  Shinobu broke the seal on the envelope and removed a blue credit card.  A flood of disturbing memories seemed to race from the envelope along with the small plastic card.  Shinobu held it up to the light as she watched the dance of the rainbow laden holograms and the glint of the glossy plastic as it reflected the daylight.  As she did so, in her mind she weighed the merits of retaining her dignity against going to the prom with Keitaro.  She knew that she was in a position to catch the next streetcar that went downtown, buy herself the most expensive dress and get her hair and makeup done at any salon she damn well pleased.  In fact, she knew that her father would be more than delighted if he have to foot such a substantial bill:  it would affirm that he remained a vital component of his daughter's life.  Furthermore, if she went to the prom in a chic and expensive dress, she knew that even her most relentless persecutors would be silenced into submission.  

            But Shinobu had promised herself long ago that she would never again be dependent on either of her parents, and up until this point she had never failed.  Despite what she felt her shortcomings were, in this matter, she guarded her honor stringently and jealously.  If she knew nothing else about maturity, she told herself that at least she knew that she could never return home again; even at such a young age, she was determined to put her parents behind her.  Should she compromise her independence on such a fundamental level in order to go to the prom with Keitaro, she asked herself painfully.  

            After debating for a while, she knew that after today, her school life would become unbearable, but at least she would be able to live with herself the rest of the time.  She placed the plastic card back into the envelope and once more concealed it beneath the disorderly mound of papers in her desk drawer.  She would have to improvise, she told herself as she walked to her closet.  She didn't have anything that approached a prom dress, but she was not deterred.  It was then that a knocking came from her door.

            "Who is it?" Shinobu asked.

            "Shinobu, it's me," Mutsumi called, "May I come in?"  

            "Of course," Shinobu answered.

            Shinobu's door slid open and Mutsumi entered.  "Shinobu, how are your preparations for the prom going?" 

            "Well, I'll be all right if that's what you're asking," Shinobu told her shyly.

            "Did you like the dress Mitsune bought for you?" Mutsumi asked sympathetically, her voice trying to touch Shinobu at the depth of her sadness.

            Shinobu shook her head in silence while lowering her eyes.

            "If you don't mind Shinobu, I was wondering if you'd like a dress," Mutsumi said quietly, "I have an extra one if you'll accept it."

            Shinobu lifted her eyes to Mutsumi in disbelief.  "It's ok," Shinobu replied despondently, "It probably wouldn't fit me.  Your figure is too different from mine.  Thank you, but it probably wouldn't work."  She recalled with bitter disappointment what had happened when she tried to fit into Haruka's dress a few days earlier.

            "It doesn't hurt to try, now does it?  Come on, I think it'll be worth your while.  I'll do your hair and makeup first," Mutsumi said with a charming smile on her face, "Besides, what do you have to lose?"

            Shinobu knew that she couldn't refuse such hospitality, especially since as a rival for Keitaro's affection, Mutsumi had no obligation whatsoever to show Shinobu any kindheartedness.  "Thank you Mutsumi," Shinobu said meekly as she followed her out of the room.

*

*            *

            "Whatcha doing?" Mitsune asked as she peeked over Keitaro's shoulder.  The two were in Hinata Sou's small laundry room.  Keitaro was holding a small box with the return address reading, "Yamamoto's Tuxedo and Accessories."  

            "Hold on, Mitsune," Keitaro said as he used a key to break the tape seal and open the package.  After wading through some packaging, Keitaro fished out a small disk-shaped object about the size of a hockey puck or a urinal cake.

            "Damn!" Mitsune giggled, "That's quite a condom you've got there, cowboy."

            "It's my tuxedo," Keitaro replied, not amused.

            "Oh I see," Mitsune said winking and nudging his side, "So that's what you kids call it nowadays."  

            "Ha ha," Keitaro said in deadpan tone obviously not amused, "Very funny, Mitsune.  Actually, to save on packaging costs and shipping, lots of companies are shipping their clothes like this now.  They shrink it and put it in this space-age plastic casing."

            "'Space-age plastic casing?'  So that's what you kids call it nowadays?"  Mitsune said before breaking into a peal of laughter.  "No, no, no I'm sorry," she said as she put her hand on Keitaro's shoulder.  "But seriously, how do you go from that," she pointed to the object in Keitaro's hand, "to a full tuxedo?"

               "Well," Keitaro said while reading a set of instructions, "It says here that all I have to do is soak it in some warm water."  He looked up from the instructions.  "Can you pass me that tub over there?" he asked while pointing to a wash bin behind Mitsune's left foot.  She handed it to him, and he put the wash bin in the sink and began to fill it up.

            "You put it in some water and presto a tuxedo comes out?" Mitsune asked, still a little incredulous.

            "That's what it says," Keitaro said as the tossed the disk into the bin.  The disk sat in the water for a few moments.  Slowly, it began to lose its definite form as its contours began to soften into a supple jelly.  As the plastic melted away, at first the black tuxedo seemed to retain the round, puck-like mold for a while before Keitaro poked and stirred the lump of cloth.  The form of a familiar tuxedo gradually emerged.

            "Pretty amazing, huh?" Keitaro said blithely. "Now all I have to do is hang it out to dry and it should be ready for tonight."  Keitaro and Mitsune headed out toward the wooden platform where the clotheslines were.  

            Along the way, Mitsune spoke.  "Say, Keitaro."

            "What is it?" Keitaro replied.

            Mitsune continued,  "Why is it that clothes are so easy for men?"

            "What do you mean?" Keitaro asked.

            "Well, I mean, for girls, clothes are so complicated.  We have to develop an instinct for color coordination.  We have to make sure our styles aren't out dated.  When we wear a blouse or shirt, we have to know if it goes best with a pair of slacks, jeans or shorts.  And we women are judged so much by what we wear.  We lose credibility if our skirts are an inch too long or short"

            "That's true," Keitaro concurred.

            "But with you men," Mitsune went on, "You can wear whatever you want.  In fact, you don't have to worry about matching your tops with your bottoms because you can go around without a shirt if you damn well please.  For God's sake, you ordered your tuxedo out of a catalogue," she said as she pointed to the sopping heap of a tuxedo that Keitaro held in his hands.

            "Yeah, I suppose your right," Keitaro said guiltily.  "What brings this all up?"

            "Nothing," Mitsune said trying to be casual, "It's just that Shinobu went ballistic when I tried to dress her up. 

            "Do you know why?" Keitaro asked.

            "I can't be sure," Mitsune said, shrugging her shoulders, "I don't think that it was a violent reaction to the makeup.  After all, it only proved unsafe for one out of five Parisian whores.  I guess it's a combination of things."

            "Wait, you didn't finish Shinobu's hair and makeup?" Keitaro asked.

            "No, she ran off before I could finish.  She didn't take the dress either," Mitsune said in a worried tone, "But I ran into Mutsumi and she said that she would help Shinobu out."

            "Mutsumi," Keitaro said in an absent voice.

            "I'm sure Mutsumi and Shinobu can pull it off together," Mitsune said, trying to conceal her anxiety.

            Keitaro turned the knob and sunlight flooded into the hall.  They went through the door and onto the landing.  Motoko broke from her drill when she noticed that she her privacy was being invaded.  As they approached the clothesline, Keitaro felt Motoko's eyes on him.  

            "Hello," Keitaro said amiably, "We're not interrupting your practice are we?"

            Motoko retained a sullen silence as Keiatro gave her a good-natured smile.

            "OK, well don't let us bother you," he told her.  She stared at him coldly as he began to pin the segments of his tuxedo to the clothesline, first the jacket, then the trousers, and finally the shirt and bowtie.

            "I'll see you later," he said as she continued with her exercises.  Mitsune and Keitaro turned and went back through the door into Hinata Sou.

*

*            *

            Shinobu back in her chair as Mutsumi began to shake a bottle of shampoo.

            "Just tilt your head back," she said as she turned on the faucet and drew warm water from the spigot.  She leaned her head back as Mutsumi, the watercarrier, pooled the water in her cupped hands before running it through Shinobu's hair.  Shinobu closed her eyes as the water weighed discreetly upon her hair and calmly heated her scalp.  

            "Keitaro had been her first love back when they were still children playing in a sandbox," Shinobu reminded herself, "Now here she is readying me for my date with Keitaro."

            Mutsumi opened the bottle and rubbed the shampoo between her hands.

            "Why is she helping me now when I'm the competition?" Shinobu asked herself as Mutsumi began to lather her hair.

            The perfumed scent of crushed herbs held Shinobu in a sweet swoon of tranquility as Mutsumi began to hum in a quiet gesture of grace.  Her voice carried Shinobu's thoughts as she recollected her experiences with Keitaro.  

            He and his Promised Girl.  Could Mutsumi be The One?  No.  Somehow, Shinobu knew that Mutsumi was not, and Mutsumi knew it herself.  There was something resigned and mournful in Mutsumi's behavior toward Keitaro, perhaps something even unnatural, as though her foresight permitted her to recognize something that the rest of them could not.

            Mutsumi had just finished rinsing Shinobu's hair when she said, "All done.  Would you like me to do your makeup now?"

            "Yes, please," Shinobu said timidly.  Mutsumi wrapped a sheet around her neck then went to retrieve some makeup from the counter.

            She powered Shinobu's face delicately.  

            "Not too much now," Mutsumi said as she brushed Shinobu's face, "The trick of makeup is to create the illusion that you aren't wearing any.  Actually, I suppose that it's not much of a secret, but it's good to know."  Mutsumi took a step back and looked at Shinobu.  She opened her eyes to find Mutsumi intent on her face.  "Do you like it?" she asked.

            Shinobu looked at herself in the mirror.  Her shell-pink cheeks rose in unison as she gave a restrained smile to Mutsumi.  She nodded her head.  

            "I knew you would like it," Mutsumi said returning Shinobu's expression of delight and relief.  From the counter, she picked up a tube of red lipstick.

            "This is what I use," Mutsumi said as she traced it over Shinobu's lips.  "Now go like this." Mutsumi puckered her lips, and made a smearing motion with them.  Shinobu followed in kind.  Mutsumi plucked a tissue from a nearby box and gave it to Shinobu.  "Just put it between your lips and press down.  It'll get rid of the excess."  Shinobu did as she was instructed, and gave the spent tissue to Mutsumi for disposal.

            "I'm sorry, but that's all the makeup I own.  I actually don't use very much myself," Mutsumi admitted, "If you'd like, I can ask the other girls for some makeup, maybe some mascara or eye shadow."

            "No!" Shinobu shouted emphatically.  She paused for a moment in embarrassment.  "I mean," she reiterated in a subdued tone, "that won't be necessary." 

            "All right then, now how about that dress?  Let's swing by your room for your slip."  She removed the sheet mantling Shinobu's shoulders.  They left the washroom and went toward Shinobu's room.  

            As they approached her room, she said, "Mutsumi, if the dress doesn't fit, please don't feel bad.  I know that I'm small for my age.  Finding clothes in my size isn't easy."

            She went into her room and picked out a slip hanging in her closet and returned to Mutsumi's side.  As they walked down the hall, Mutsumi took Shinobu's hand.  Shinobu glanced at Mutsumi's hand, then at her face.  

            "You shouldn't put yourself down like that, Shinobu," she said somberly, "You don't seem to understand how mature you really are."  They walked on in silence before Mutsumi spoke again.   

            "I think that you'll like the dress," Mutsumi said optimistically. "It isn't fancy and you won't look like that other girls, but it's a very respectful dress."

            Mutsumi slid the door of her room open and welcomed Shinobu in.  "It's right on the bed.  I'll give you a moment."

            Shinobu entered and Mutsumi closed the door behind her.  She approached the bed with soft steps, wary of what she might find.  It seemed as though nothing had fit Shinobu.  In her training gi, she had been assaulted and battered by Motoko.  In Haruka's prom dress, she had been made the fool.  She didn't even want to remember the exploding bra incident.  But most painful of all, she remembered looking at the chest of her school uniform when Moto made her snipe about Shinobu not being grown up.  She had changed so many times and yet she had always remained the same: insecure, self-conscious, and obsessed with the notions of inadequacy.  

            With care, she lifted the black dress that lay on Mutsumi's bed.  She held it up and allowed it to tumble open.  To her disbelief, it did not unfurl to Mutsumi's length.  Instead, the dress seemed to accommodate perfectly to Shinobu's measurements.  In awe, Shinobu gazed at it a while longer.  Mutsumi was at least six inches taller than she was.  The dress was much too short and slender to fit Mutsumi. 

            She couldn't have bought the dress especially for Shinobu.  Even with her financial aid at Todai, she still had to take an abundance of loans.  She was always short of money and even though she never told anyone at Hinata Sou, they all suspected that most of the money she made from working her college jobs went back to Okinawa to support the sizable family she left behind.

            Shinobu searched her memory trying to recall if she had ever seen that dress before.  

            "Of course," Shinobu thought.  This was the dress that Mutsumi had worn when the residents of Hinata Sou treated Naru, Keitaro, and her to dinner for their acceptance into Todai.  

            Suddenly, it struck Shinobu:  Mutsumi had mutilated her finest dress for her sake.  

            Holding up the dress, she felt the fabric in her fingers: like fine silk or a mother's touch.

            What was it about Mutsumi's nature that wouldn't allow her to care for herself?  Her selflessness and acts of sacrifice were almost frighteningly masochistic.  

            Was it true that there were some people that needed to be saved and some people who just had to save others?  And would she always give away what was dearest to her: her dress, Keitaro too . . . 

            Shinobu removed her clothes, put on her slip, and then slid the dress over it, being careful not to smudge her makeup.  She peered at herself in the mirror.  It was a perfect fit.

            Mutsumi was right.  It was not a fancy dress.  But in the quiet dignity of its lines and its minimal ornamentation, there was something undeniably demure and understated about it.

            What was it that motivated Mutsumi to help prepare her for the prom?  Did she recognize something of herself in Shinobu: the longing for a man despite foreknowledge of the inevitable failure?  As Shinobu gazed into the mirror, she knew that if there were any real justice, Keiatro would return Mutsumi's love.  Why should a silly promise keep them apart?  

            Was it Fate?  Were Keitaro and Naru destined to be with each another because Fate was granting their promise of fifteen years ago?  

            But even that made no sense to Shinobu: was Fate so absurd, illogical or just plain stupid as to grant the wishes of toddlers indulging in grown-up fantasies of love?  

            If it were Fate, then was Keitaro really happier being a mistreated slave to Fate and Naru rather than breaking free and accepting Mutsumi's unconditional love?  

            As far as Shinobu could tell, Fate had made victims of them all.  Both Mutsumi and she would never be able to reach any level of fulfillment with Keitaro, their first loves.  As for Naru, she was emotionally unready to return any affection for Keitaro.  In order to get her into a relationship with Keitaro, Fate would have to coerce her against her will and persuade her to be satisfied with Keitaro.  It was as though she were placed in an arranged marriage by unsympathetic parents and there was nothing she could do besides deceive herself into a false sense of contentment.  Then there was Keitaro.  Fate had turned him into a sort of comical Caliban.  He had nothing to sustain his love for Naru beyond his own pleasant delusions.  When those were lacking, he supplemented them with pornographic desires: his soul grew fat and grotesque as he fed off his lust for Naru.  Fate had transformed Hinata Sou into a ship of fools drifting aimlessly toward an indecisive conclusion.  She cowered in the shadow of it all, but felt a degree of comfort and assurance as she wore Mutsumi's dress. 

            "Mutsumi," Shinobu called beyond the door, "Please come in.  The dress is lovely."

            She entered the room.  When she saw Shinobu, she clasped her hands and in joy exclaimed, "Ara! Ara! Shinobu, you are beautiful!  You will be the prettiest girl at the dance!"  There was a tone of sincerity in her voice that convinced Shinobu that Mutsumi wasn't making an empty compliment.

            "Thank you so much for the dress Mutsumi," Shinobu said humbly, "but why did you . . . "

            "Please Shinobu," Mutsumi interrupted, "This is for you.  Please accept it as a gift."

            "Thank you," Shinobu said while bowing, "I'll never forget this."

            "Ara! Ara! Shinobu," Mutsumi said brushing it off, "You'd better hurry up and get ready or you'll be late to your prom."

            Shinobu nodded her head and passed Mutsumi on her way out the door.  Suddenly, Shinobu turned back to face Mutsumi.

            "Mutsumi," Shinobu began slowly, "I've heard that men only want one thing.  Is that true?"

            Mutsumi looked away for a moment before replying.  "It's true.  Men only want one thing," she said softly, "but it's never the same."

            Shinobu looked at herself and Mutsumi in the mirror once more.  "What do you think Keitaro wants?" she asked.

            Mutsumi also looked into the mirror before answering, "We both know the answer."

            Shinobu was struck wordless by the truthfulness of what Mutsumi had said.  She bowed once more before leaving the room.

*

*            *

            Keitaro furiously opened cabinet doors and shuffled through various boxes of detergent, cleaning rags, and buckets.  

            "Where could that . . ."  he muttered to himself.  Suddenly, he spotted Koalla walking by the laundry room.  "Hey, Koalla," he cried out, "Do you have any idea where the iron is?"

            "You mean that old hunk of junk?  It's so heavy.  Why don't we get one of those new plastic ones?" she asked.

            "Would you like to buy one?" he asked lightheartedly.

            "Yeah right," she retorted.  "It's on the top shelf, in the cabinet right next to the wall."

             "Thanks," Keiatro said as he found a nearby stool and reached the top shelf.  Koalla was right.  It had been a while since he had used the iron and he forgot how heavy it was.  He plugged the ion into the wall and hoisted himself onto the washing machine while he waited for it to heat up.  While he sat, Naru stuck her head into the room.

            "Oh, you're here," she said nervously, "Hurry up because I have to do my laundry tonight."

            Keitaro remained silent for a moment, waiting to see if Naru would continue to speak.  When she did not, he asked, "Is there something wrong?  Would you like to come in?"

            "Sure," she said.  She took a seat next to him on the dryer.  For a moment they were seated next to each other in silence before Keitaro began to chat.  

            "It sure is cold outside," he stated.

            "Yes," she agreed, "Cold indeed.  The rain came at the worst time, didn't it?"

            "Uh huh," Keitaro concurred, "At least it stopped raining for now."  He paused in his conversation before continuing in desperation.  "In the summer, when it's warm outside, sometimes the rain is pretty nice."

            "Yeah, nice in the summer," Naru decided.

            "Hey," Keitaro said after they had been sitting together without speaking for a while, "I think the iron is ready.  Would it be ok if I took care of my tuxedo?"

            "Sure, don't let me keep you," Naru urged.  Keitaro hopped down from the washing machine and picked up the iron.  As Keitaro began to move the iron methodically back and forth over his tuxedo, Naru broke the silence.  "Hey, Keitaro," she said while pretending to be engrossed with paring her nails, "I just wanted you to know that I got you something for your dance tonight."  From her purse, she produced a small, white cardboard box.  She broke the seal on the box and removed the contents: a small white rose.  "It's a boutonniere, you know, for your tuxedo's button hole."

            "Naru, I don't know what to say."  Keitaro spoke slowly, choosing his words wisely.  "It really means a lot to me."

            "Well," Naru said almost flippantly, "I just didn't want you to make an idiot out of yourself tonight.  You can't just look like a slob, you have a responsibility to look good for . . ."  Her voice broke off in mid sentence as she turned her eyes from Keitaro.  She placed the boutonniere on the washing machine.  He looked up from his ironing and approached Naru.

            "Are you all right?"  he asked as he put his hand on her shoulder.

            Angrily, she knocked his hand away.  "I told you never to touch me!  I know where your hand has been!" she shrieked as she swiped the iron from his hand and batted him across the head with it.  With second-degree burns scorching his face, Keiaro crumpled to the ground. 

             "Oh and have fun at the dance," Naru called out over her shoulder as she skipped away from Keitaro.

            Keitaro picked himself up and returned to the ironing board.  Just as he had finished, Mitsune knocked on the door and peeked her head through.  "Hey there Keitaro," she said slyly, "What's up?  Your tuxedo came out all right?"

              "Yeah, actually it did," Keitaro said proudly.

            "Well, I just wanted to wish you the best of luck at your prom tonight and give you these."  From her coat pocket, she removed a small metal flask and a packet of cigarettes.

            "Oh Mitsune," Keitaro said while waving his hands in a gesture of refusal, "You know that I don't smoke.  Plus, those aren't allowed at school functions.  What if I'm caught?"

            "That's the whole point silly," Mitsune said almost amused, "Let the kids see you with these and you'll make Shinobu a hero.  Just be careful the chaperones don't catch you."

            "I don't know," Keitaro said while uneasily picking up his tuxedo and moving quickly toward the door, desperate to escape from Mitsune, "I really don't want to cause any problems.  They'll probably be watching me closely in any case." 

            "Who cares?" Mitsune said confidently as she pursued Keitaro down the hall.  "At any rate, if you pull this off, you can maybe get Shinobu into the cool crowd just in time for high school.  Don't you want the best for our little Shinobu?  I know that I do."  By this time, Keitaro had almost reached his door.  Mitsune began to press her case even more desperately.  "Come on!  Plus, if you get bored, you can always entertain yourself with a swig or two.  What do you say?"

            Keitaro looked peevishly at Mitsune before he blurted out, "Fine!  Whatever!"  He snatched the box of cigarettes and the silver flask from her hand and slid his door closed without another word.  

            Mitsune stood outside his door for a moment.  "OK, you're welcome," she said almost bewildered before walking on.

*

*             *

            There was a knock on Koalla's door.  At first, the pounding didn't reach her through the music of her headphones, but as the thumping became louder, she noticed and went to answer her door.  It was Shinobu.

            "Wow, you look great, Shinobu," Koalla said admiringly.

            "Thanks.  How's your forehead?" Shinobu asked, concerned.

            "It's getting there," Koalla said while rubbing her head, "So, what can I help you with?"

            "Well I was just wondering if I could use your computer for a moment.  If that's ok with you," Shinobu said.

            "No problem," Koalla said, "I was just going to step out for a minute anyway.  I've got that new wireless Internet connection, so go right ahead."

            Koalla went to the kitchen for a glass of water and searched the cupboards for a banana or two. She returned just in time to pass Shinobu who was leaving her room.  "Find everything ok?" Koalla asked.

            "I did.  Thanks for letting me use your computer," Shinobu said.

            "Anytime.  By the way, have fun at your dance tonight."  She watched Shinobu walk down the hall toward her room.  When Shinobu was out of sight, Koalla went to her computer to find that Shinobu had been searching for the lyrics to a song: _Wild Horses_.

*

*            *

            "Seta is here!" Mitsune called out from the living room.  Her voice reached Shinobu to produce a spell of anxiety and relief.

            "Away! Away!" Shinobu thought to herself, "I'm finally going to the prom with Keitaro!"  She gathered up the last of the items she needed for the prom.  When she had everything, she rushed out of her room and down the hall.  Along the way to the door, she passed Koalla and Sara.

            "Have fun Shinobu!" Koalla said encouragingly.

            "Yeah, good luck tonight!" Sara added.

            "Thanks you guys," Shinobu replied as she kept up a brisk pace.

            When she reached he living room, she saw Keitaro, donned in his full tuxedo, waiting for her.  Shinobu did her best to subdue her elation.  After the long week of deceit, misunderstanding, bitter resentment, and the general insanity of Hinata Sou, Keitaro and she had survived it all to finally go to the prom together.

            "You look great!" Keitaro said admiringly. "Shall we go?" he asked, "Seta is waiting for us outside."

            "Yes, let's go," Shinobu agreed.  

            The pair walked into the out of Hinata Sou together, unsure of what would follow, but unafraid of the possibilities.  The cold night air seemed to remind them that they were being welcomed into a world that was strange and new.    

End of Chapter 8.

Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only. 


	13. Chapter 9: Dance Dance Revelation

Last Dance with Shinobu-chan.

By Project Pegasus

Chapter 9: Dance Dance Revelation

            "I'm sorry to hear that," Keitaro said consolingly.

            "I just can't understand why my students can't stay awake in my class," Seta said while shaking his head, "I have this feeling that my problems stem from my lectures.  They just don't have that extra "kick."  So, to remedy the situation, look what I bought."  He turned around in his chair and began to rummage through a pile of papers and manila folders cluttering the back seat.

            "Seta-sensei!" Keitaro screamed as he leaned over and grabbed the wheel and began to steer, "Don't take your hands off of the wheel!"

            "Please Seta, don't take your eyes off the road!" Shinobu begged.

            "Hold on.  Hold on.  I've almost found it," he said while pushing aside a mound of books, "Ah! Here it is!"

            Seta retook the wheel and gave Keitaro a small shopping bag.  He removed the contents to find that Seta had bought a grade school joke book.

            "What's this?" he asked.

            "This," Seta said while tapping the book, "is my ticket to more engaged students!  When I crack some of these jokes in class, they'll really become motivated.  Reminding me of my students, I've got to do some research tonight for tomorrow's lecture so I'll be downtown near your school, ok?"

            "You know," Shinobu said trying to be as polite as possible, "These are jokes for children.  I don't think that Todai students will be very amused, not that your effort to inspire your students isn't admirable."

            "Nonsense Shinobu," Seta assured her, "My students will love them.  Here, let me test one out on Keitaro.  Knock. Knock."

            Sensing that it would be a long night, Keitaro reached for Mitsune's silver flask of 94 proof whiskey.  As he felt his jacket, he suddenly remembered that he had left Naru's gift to him in the washroom. 

            "My boutonniere!" Keitaro burst out.

            "That's not what you're supposed to say.  It goes like this: 'Knock Knock' . . ." Seta instructed Keitaro.

            "No," Keitaro said interrupting, "I forgot the boutonniere that Na . . ."  He broke off before he completed his sentence.  He looked at Shinobu as she gave him a questioning glance.  "I mean, I forgot my boutonniere back at Hinata Sou," he corrected quickly. 

            "It's no problem, we can go back and pick it up," Seta said as he executed a sharp u-turned.

            Above the scream of Seta's tires, Keitaro could be heard yelling, "No don't worry about it!  We don't need to go back!" 

            "Don't be silly," Seta shouted, "You need your boutonniere."  

            Midway through the sweeping turn, they felt the tires lose traction as the van's center of gravity began to shift.  Keitaro and Shinobu gripped the armrests of their seats firmly as the car began to tumble and turn end upon end.  Shattered glass flew near their heads as the metal contorted around them with a grinding crunch.  Finally, it came to rest upside-down on a set of train tracks.  

            "Woops, sorry about that," Seta said sheepishly, "Anyone hurt?"

            Just as Keitaro and Shinobu were about to respond, their faces were illuminated a ghastly, pallid white light.

            "The train!" Shinobu screeched.

            "Damn safety belts," Seta said as he fumbled around with the buckle of his seat belt.  Quickly, Keitaro and Shinobu unfastened their safety restraints, and leapt from Seta's van just as the train plowed into the mangled heap that was once Seta's van.  The heat from the exploding van raced against their backs as they hurdled themselves just out of range of the blast.

            "Oh no! Seta!" Shinobu cried.

            "Don't worry Shinobu," Keitaro said reassuringly, "Even if he didn't get out in time, he'll be ok.  Seta is a survivor.  It'll take more than a train wreck to finish him off."  They both watched as the train shoved the flaming remnants of Seta's van down the tracks.  Sparks flickered from the wreckage as it passed into the distance.  

*

*            *

            As they approached the auditorium, Shinobu felt as though the faint music breathed into the night air was calling her.  Up until then, her prom had seemed an unreal and unattainable dream.  But the once remote and regal ideal in Shinobu's mind began to take concrete form in the renovated multipurpose room: there was techno music, flashing lights, gaudy decorations and balloons already limp from helium loss.  No matter how obvious and false the masquerading auditorium was, to Shinobu, it all still seemed brighter than the sun to her.  The fantasy carnival awaited them inside.

            "This is it," Keitaro said almost gravely, "Are you ready, Shinobu?"

            Shinobu continued to stare resolutely forward as she nodded her head.  They approached the woman sitting at a table in front of the auditorium.  Shinobu reached into her purse and produced her beloved prom ticket with their names written on it.  She remembered how only a few days prior, she had held the tickets close to her body while daydreaming of the possibilities that the tickets assure her of.  Now, as the woman at the door motioned for Shinobu and Keitaro to enter, she knew that the tickets had not lied to her.  It was a promise fulfilled, a covenant kept.     

            As they proceeded through the dance floor, the scene stood still.  It was apparent that the name of _Urashima Keitaro_ had not faded from the minds and tongues of Shinobu's junior high class.  As they entered the auditorium, the students halted their conversations when they noticed Shinobu and Keitaro strolling past.  Even though this is what Shinobu had always craved, to be part of the junior high school aristocracy, she felt humiliated as her classmates gawked at them and whispered as they passed.  She did not want to believe that for the sake notoriety, she had betrayed the trust of her most treasured friends back at Hinata Sou, but she couldn't deny the reality that surrounded her.  

            They made their way to some tables in the corner and sat down.  Their table was a rickety contraption covered by a plastic, blue tablecloth and in the middle of it sat some sort of sparkly, gluey centerpiece.  Keitaro leaned toward Shinobu as he spoke above the music.

            "It's been a while since I was in a junior high school," Keitaro reminisced.

            "You don't feel uncomfortable or out of place, do you?" Shinobu asked.

            "Oh not at all," Keitaro said, "I'm just glad I could spend time with you."  Shinobu's face registered an inquisitive expression.  "As a friend, of course," he added quickly.

            "Of course," Shinobu echoed, "As a friend."

            The dance music ended.  Keitaro and Shinobu each nervously began to look around the room, each awaiting the other for an offer to dance.  After another song began to play and the two had not taken to the floor, they both stifled sighs of relief.   

            "You know sempai," Shinobu said somewhat embarrassed, "I don't really like to dance all that much.  I know that when you dance, it's supposed to be a time when you can be close to another person, but I just don't know how you can feel comfortable with so many other people around.  I really feel self-conscious when I have to dance in front of others."

            "I understand perfectly, Shinobu," he replied. "Even when I went to the prom with Yoko Yokohama, I didn't feel like dancing.  I only did it because she seemed so enthusiastic about it.  Really, I would rather have just talked to her and gotten to know her better.  Besides," he winked, "I'm a pretty lousy dancer."

            Shinobu smiled along with him.  "Would you like to go outside?" she offered, "I know it's rather cold and it might start raining again, but it would probably be more enjoyable than in here."

            "I think so too," Keitaro concurred.  

            They rose from their tables and made their way through the crowd once more.  Upon opening the door and exiting the auditorium, the claustrophobic anxiety of gossip and accusing eyes was replaced by the freedom of the silent night.

*

*            *

            Keitaro and Shinobu sat on a low stone fence that surrounded the school premises.  Shinobu nervously entertained herself with the swish, swoosh, swash, of her legs as they motioned backward and forward like a pair of stalking-swathed pendulums.  There was a certain thrill and shame being alone with Keitaro, but she much rather preferred this to being in the crowded auditorium surrounded by her condemning, voyeuristic classmates.  At times, she entertained the notion that if she built enough unfeeling resolve, she could still remorselessly and smugly parade Keitaro around the dance floor.  She knew that this was her opportunity to exact her revenge by being the envy of her most bitter tormentors.  But for once, Shinobu just wanted to enjoy herself with Keitaro and she didn't feel obligated to prove their worth.  "We are who we are, and what do the others know?" Shinobu told herself confidently while looking at Keitaro.

            "You're not cold?" Keitaro asked.  "You're sure you don't want to go back into the building?"

            "I'm fine.  Thanks," Shinobu said, "I really never was one for crowds or parties.  This really is much more pleasant."  

            "You know, that's what I've always thought too," Keitaro confided in her, "It's fine being in a crowd, but I really prefer being alone with someone I like."

            "You mean, you like me?" Shinobu asked timidly.

            "Oh, um, sure I do Shinobu," Keitaro said cautiously, "I like everyone at Hinata Sou.  You guys are all I really have in life."  

            "I know what you mean.  I don't really have many close friends at school and . . ."  she hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I'm not really on very good terms with my family."

            Keitaro lifted his head up.  This was the first time she had ever spoken to him about her family.  Keitaro had always deemed the subject taboo because he assumed that something traumatic must have happened in Shinobu's past.  She was much too young to be living alone at a boarding school.  He knew that it must be a painful experience for Shinobu to revisit her past, but that if she did choose to fish through her distressing memories, she could do no less than speak with all of her heart.

            "Do you love your family, Keitaro?" she asked.

            "Well," Keitaro said reflectively, "My parents don't really respect my intelligence, and they thought I was a fool for trying to get into Todai, but I know that they love me and I can depend on them if I ever need help or money.  Come to think of it, I also had a sister, but she went to live with some relatives and I haven't seen her in over a decade.  I wonder if she even remembers me.  Hmm . . ."  He hesitated for a moment before asking, "Would it be all right if I asked you the same question?" 

            "Yes," she said, "That's kind of why I brought the subject up."  Shinobu took a deep breath before continuing.  "I wish I could do that too, depend on my parents like you can.  Actually, I can ask them for anything, but I choose not to."  She looked away as she spoke.  "When I was younger, my parents would always fight.  After coming home from school, I had a precious few hours alone to myself before they came home from work and began to fight.  I would play with my dolls or read my books, something pleasant for a few hours to pass the time.  But then I would hear the key in the lock, I knew that my time alone had come to an end.  Everyday, I kept the hope alive that they wouldn't fight; I said to myself, 'Perhaps this is the day that I will have my peaceful evening in silence.'  I never stopped believing either.  When they started to fight every night, I would always put my headphones on and go inside my closet, but in matter how loudly I played my music, I couldn't block them out.  They would always find something to fight about.  When the fighting was at its worst, my father would accuse my mother of getting pregnant just to force him into a marriage." Tears began to moisten her eyes.  Slowly, they began to fall into the puddles made by the rain earlier that day.  

            "I was a mistake, Keitaro, and they didn't even try to hide it from me," she sobbed openly, "When they weren't fighting, they both used me as a weapon against the other.  My mother got home a few hours before my father did.  Sometimes, she would say that my father was out drinking the family money away instead of spending time with his wife and daughter.  My father was even worse.  He made more money than my mother so he could buy me whatever I wanted.  While out shopping, he would always insist that my mother didn't care about me.  He would point out that dinner was never ready on time, and that the house was never clean.  He asked me if other mothers stayed home and spent time with their children, and I said yes.  All of my friends had mothers who stayed at home.  Then he asked me, 'Why do you think mom goes to work instead of taking care of you?"  I said that I didn't know.  He never accused her outright of being a bad parent, but he would always find ways of suggesting it.  He said that my mother did love our family, but she thought that making money was more important to the family than taking care of me.  He would always say how selfish she was, but he said that she wasn't very smart so we had to excuse her actions.  I hated him for tricking me into hating my mother!  I hate my mother almost as much.

            "My father even suggested that I learn how to cook and keep up the house to help her.  And so I did.  I did it because I thought that if dinner were prepared just a little bit sooner or if the house were just a little bit cleaner, then maybe they would stop fighting.  I thought, 'Maybe I can do something to make my parents love each other again.'  My plan didn't work though.  They didn't get along any better.  Do you know what happened?  My father would laugh at my mother and insult her.  He said that _I_ worked more around the house than she did.  I did them a favor, but they were still using me, Keitaro.  That's why I hate cooking and cleaning!  I act like I take pleasure in it but in reality I hate everything about it!  I wouldn't do it for the members of Hinata Sou either if they didn't depend on me so much!  I just do it to make people happy, but I never really succeed.  Nobody is really made happy when I cook and clean for them.  With my father, it was just another rock he could stone my mother with.  At Hinata Sou, they are just glad that they have warm meals every day.  People don't love me for who I am, just what I can do for them."  Shinobu put her head in her hands as she sobbed uncontrollably.

            After a few moments, she bite her lip for control before continuing.  "Finally, my grandmother said that all that fighting would injure my delicate feminine psyche and that would make me unsuitable for a husband.  That's the only reason I was sent away: because of the harm it might do to my marriage prospects.

            "As I was leaving, my father slipped me a small white envelop.  Later when I opened it, I found that it was a credit card.  I've never used it.  Remember all those times we had to search for you across Japan and in the Pararakerusu Islands?"

            Keitaro nodded his head.

            "Even when I had nothing more than a few thousand yen, I still refused to use that credit card.  I told myself that my parents would always hurt and use me so I convinced myself that I was better off without them.  I've forced myself to build a new family at Hinata Sou.  You know, you're one of the reasons why I haven't turned back to my parents for any support.  I know that I have never really said it before, but you are one of the most important people in my life, Keitaro."  Shinobu began to blush a bit.  "Honestly, without you, I wouldn't have anybody to love." 

            "I'm so sorry, Shinobu," Keitaro said while putting his arm around her, "I'm sorry that nobody seems to understand just how special you are."  She stemmed her weeping until the tears had exhausted themselves and her body shuddered with the pulsation of an occasional sniffle.

            Shinobu knew that she had just stopped short of confessing her love for him.  She held this last secret folded securely in her heart.  Shinobu wondered if this was what it meant to fall in love: being able to share your fears with the man you love.  Of her most repressed secrets, her life before she arrived at Hinata Sou remained some of the most jealously guarded of them all.  But somehow, Keitaro made her feel as though her past didn't have to be so hurtful.  She peered deeply into his brown eyes and saw the closed world that they alone shared together.

            After a moment's silence, Keitaro said, "Would you like to go in now?  It looks like you're shivering."  

            "Yes," she agreed, "Let's go."

*

*             *

             When they had reached their table once again, Keitaro said, "I'll just be a minute.  I have to use the restroom."

            After Keitaro had departed, Shinobu sat alone with her thoughts.  She had never revealed so much of herself to anyone before.  She had long ago rocked her emotions shut and cleared her family from her consciousness.  She had gone beyond trying to bury her childhood: she had tried to kill it, erase it from her memory.  Ironically, even though she fought to eradicate her childhood with her parents, others made her feel as though she were stuck in a perpetual childhood.  But Keitaro understood that her experiences gave her wisdom.  He had called her "special."  He was the only one who believed in her.  Why was he always so nice to her, she asked herself.  She wondered if she meant something more to him. 

            The wait for Keitaro became unusually prolonged.  Shinobu began to toy with the glitter-laden centerpiece and tugged on her dress to straighten it.  After refolding her legs for the third time, Shinobu noticed that as her classmates passed her by, they stared at her and murmured softly to each other.  At first, she noticed nothing out of the ordinary; they had been gossiping and speculating about Keitaro and her all week.  But it soon became apparent to Shinobu that in addition to the leering, there were also occasional giggles.  "It must be Keitaro's absence," she concluded, "They think that he ditched me."  She realized that without a Todai student propping her up, she reverted to her former immature and social incompetent identity.  Instantly, her classmates had revoked her flimsy public persona as the "Girl with the Todai Boyfriend" and had again branded her a child.  Shinobu began to shift uncomfortably in her chair as she felt the stares and gossip relentlessly mock and belittle her.  She realized that she could never please them no matter what she did, just like everyone else except Keitaro.

            Finally, she spied Keitaro's determined movements through the crowd.  His expression was direly urgent but anxious.  He plopped himself down at the table and uneasily wiped his forehead before speaking.  

            "Shinobu," he said with immediacy and fretfulness, "There is something I have to tell you right now, and I don't know how you're going to react to this."

            "Sempai?" Shinobu said gently.

            "This is why he took so long," Shinobu told herself, "He must have been gathering the courage to confess his love for me!" 

            As Keitaro inhaled slowly and deeply, Shinobu could feel a fragment of her soul being swept up in his drawing breath.  She seemed to quiver in anticipation.  She knew that what he was about to say would change her life irrevocably. 

            Keitaro began again, "Shinobu . . ." 

End of Chapter 9.

Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only. 


	14. Chapter 10: Please Love Me

Last Dance With Shinobu-Chan.

By Project Pegasus

Chapter X:  Please Love Me.

            There was a distinct chill in the air as Naru peered out from the living room window.  She watched as Keitaro and Shinobu piled into Seta's van drove away.

            "What's wrong with you?" Mitsune called out as she stretched luxuriously and lazily over the couch.  "You should have more faith in people.  Shinobu told you why Keitaro and she were going to the dance together.  Nothing will happen between those two."  Naru turned almost angrily from the window to face Mitsune, who was leisurely sprawled across the sofa in all of her sloth-like glory.  

            "Why should I care what they do?  I'm not the J.S.S.D.F. for God's sake!" she howled.

            "Calm down and watch the TV with me," Mitsune offered.  "It's the opiate of the people," she said slyly while deviously wiggling the remote control.  She sat up and temptingly patted the sofa cushion on her right side saying, "C'mon Naru.  TV is _my_ perfect drug."

            Naru brooded by the window before sneering, "Did you see the way Keitaro was ogling Shinobu's ass when she got into Seta's van!?"

            "Huh?" Mitsune asked, surprised by Naru's sudden outburst.

            Naru continued in a huff, "Honestly, I don't know how _you _can be so nonchalant about all of this?!"

            "Just let those crazy kids have their fun, Naru," Mitsune advised, "After all, what's so wrong about two people going to a social event together as friends?"

            "Friends!?" Naru yelled in amazement, "How can you even bring up that whole sack of lies about those two going to the dance as 'friends?'  Aren't you even the least bit offended that they're insulting your intelligence with that 'we're going as friends' excuse?"

            "Why should I be offended?  They _are_ only going as friends after all.  Nothing more," Mitsune said calmly.

            "You're so naïve!"  Naru said agonizingly, "Am I the only one who isn't afraid to call the Emperor naked!?"

            "Oh!  A cute naked guy?  Where?!  Where?!" Mitsune asked eagerly.

            "This isn't a time for jokes!" Naru reprimanded, "I must be the only one who can see that as soon as he gets the chance, Keitaro is going to soil Shinobu."

            "Back off there, Naru," Mitsune advised, her voice shedding it customarily lighthearted tone.

            Naru continued without being interrupted by Mitsune's warning, "And Shinobu, with stars in her eyes and her head so filled with dreams, is going to go along with it all!  I just know it!"

            Mitsune started on in disbelief.

            "Why am I the only one who seems to understand?!  While you all were priming her like a rose, Keitaro has been getting ready to deflower her!"

            "Naru, that's enough!" Mitsune pleaded, "Get a hold of yourself!  Do you even realize what you're saying?  Those are some major accusations."  

            "I can't believe we all turned a blind eye and let this crime happen!" Naru screamed.

            "You've got to calm down," Mitsune begged, "Nothing is going to happen."    

            "Believe anything you want!" she cried, "Believe anything but the truth!  It makes to difference to me!"  

            As she thundered out of the room she yelled, "I have things to do!" 

            Naru passed a dazed Mitsune as she departed from the living room and down the hallway.  When she reached the door of her room, she flung it open with a kick and practically executed a stranglehold on her hamper as she dragged it toward the laundry room, muttering to herself the whole way.

            If she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that not even she believed her own slanderous, paranoiac finger pointing.  But then again, anything was better than admitting that for once, she had lost Keitaro to another girl, even if it was for one night only. 

            When she had reached the threshold of the laundry room, she let her hamper fall to the floor with a careless thud.  As she scanned over the room for her detergent, she noticed a solitary rose resting on the hood of the cold, whitewashed metallic washing machine.  She continued to stare at it, the boutonnière, Keitaro's boutonnière that she had bought just for him.  She blotted and hid away her tears.  

            She lifted the quivering rose against the light.  She had intended it to be the token of her love for him.  After masquerading as Shinobu's date for the night, she knew that it would be her boutonnière that would remind him of her, and she had faith that it would return him to her side when everything was over.  

            Had she been betrayed or forsaken?  Had she been spurned for another?

            But then again, it was no concern of Naru's since she had never loved Keitaro in the first place, she reminded herself.

            What did she want anyway, she asked herself.

            ¾ Keitaro?

            "No!" she insisted.

            ¾ Keitaro?

            "No!" she maintained.

            ¾ Keitaro?

            "No! No! No!"

            She didn't know what she really wanted, but she could honestly say that it wasn't Keitaro.  If nothing else, she just didn't want to be alone and abandon like she had been when she was a bedridden, anemic toddler.

            Loneliness.

            It was a Friday night.

            This was the time when the boys of Todai, her classmates, gathered their loose yen and slapped together whatever semblance of a date they could.  She could imagine the men taking their girlfriends to dine at restaurants the men could hardly afford.  She could see them wracking their nerves over the bill even before the appetizers were served.  Perhaps then a movie, whatever trash had just been imported from Hollywood.  And then a final return to Todai for a night of atrocious and shameless dorm sex.

            "Ugh," Naru groaned, "Repulsive."  She could almost picture the men ineptly and clumsily fumbling through their wallets for that tacky condom.

            "How vulgar!" she spat, "How obscene!"

            But somehow this scenario would almost be a quaint way to pass the evening with Keitaro.  

            "A date with Keitaro?" she wondered.

            At dinner, she could imagine him pulling up to the drive thru window and proudly announcing that no extra value meal was too good for his girl and that he would be honored to pay the extra hundred yen for an apple pie.  

            She could almost intuit his choice in the movie afterward, some sloppily constructed routine of inane clichés: an action movie with machines and robots, no doubt.  The appalling dialogue would only be matched by the equally appalling acting.   How his face would be rocked with utter shock when the movie revealed that the cyborg hunter was really a cyborg all along, or something just as tedious.

            And then they would reach the awkward end of the date.  She could almost feel his lust-driven body gravitate toward her, only to have the impulses suppressed by his paralyzing shyness.  She could picture the gratitude and fear in his eyes as she took his hand and guided him up the stairs to her room, holding control over him with nothing more than a knowing glance, a brush of her skirt, the sweet life of her breath.  Alone together in her room, she could feel the echo of their shoes hitting the floor, their years of isolation dissolving like a lump of sugar in a cup of warm water by one act of recognition and acceptance.

            Naru looked at her watch.  She knew that Keitaro must have reached the dance by that time.  She had no power beyond fantasize his return to her.  This would just have to be another solitary evening.  Meanwhile, Keitaro was far away with Shinobu.

            She brought to mind how Keitaro had so cavalierly cast her off.  She stared upon the washing machine where she had first discovered Keitaro's forgotten boutonnière.  "If he'd only ask, I wouldn't hesitate to confess my love for him," she brooded sullenly.  

            "On second thought," she revised, "I don't know.  Maybe I wouldn't be so open, but he would still understand if he had half a mind.  It's still his fault."  She continued to peer upon the rose.  It saddened her just as it infuriated her.  

            But it was her anger that got the better of her.  She crushed the boutonnière till a red and green paste began to grease the palm of her hand.  She opened her hand and gazed at the ruined gift, the rouge petals crumpled and torn and the leave pressed together.  Then she realized that it didn't matter what she did because he wasn't there to see her destroy her present to him.  Even if he had been there, he might not even care what she did to his rose.  She finally understood that she no longer had any authority over him.  

            "No!" she yelled defiantly, "No! It's not so!"

            She began to furiously kick the washing machine.  The vibration of the sheet metal sounded throughout the room.  The side of the machine yielded to her blows as clusters of craters worked their way into its surface.  She swung her attention to the wall.  Again and again her knuckles slammed into it; she throttled its impassive, white face.  After her tender and reddened fists had been exhausted of all feeling, she turned her attention to a nearby cabinet.  She grasped the cabinet by its sides and began to rock it forward and back.  Its contents began to cascade from the shelves.  Rolls of toilet paper began to float by Naru before bouncing on the floor.  Light bulbs shattered around Naru's feet as plastic bottles of cleaning solution dropped to the floor with a thud.  As her fit of rage continued, she did not notice the bulky iron teetering on the edge of the shelf, the same iron Keitaro had been using earlier that evening.  Passively, it obeyed the motions of Naru's tremor and slid out from its place on the shelf.  It followed the law of gravity to its logical conclusion as it collided with Naru's head below.  She collapsed to the floor amid the heap of rubble she had created.  The iron clanged to the floor and settled beside Naru's fallen body.

            Mitsune, drawn by the commotion of Naru's eruption of anger, ran towards the room.  

            "What the hell is going on?" she cried out.  Upon entering the room, she saw Naru's crumpled body.  In a panic, she screamed, "Oh my God!  Naru!  Naru?"

*

*            *

            Keitaro quickly finished drying his hands and tossed the brown paper napkin into the waste bin.  As he exited the restroom, a chaperone tapped him on the shoulder and leaned toward his ear.  Raising his voice above the pulsating music, he asked, "Excuse me, you are Urashima Keitaro, correct?"

            "That's right," Keitaro nodded.

            "There's a phone call for you.  Please follow me," he said.  He led Keitaro down a hallway to the main office.  He unlocked the door and ushered Keitaro to a phone sitting on the main desk.  After thanking the man, Keitaro placed the receiver to his ear and said, "Hello?"

            "Keitaro?  It's me, Mitsune," the voice across the line said urgently, "Listen, Naru is unconscious.  An iron fell on her head and she has been out since.  Can you get to the hospital somehow?"

            "I think there's a street car that has a stop about a quarter of a mile away from here.  It runs right by the hospital.  The next run isn't for a while, but I'll be there as soon as possible," he said, the tone of his voice weighed down heavily by his concern for Naru, "Will she be ok?"

            "It's touch and go for now," Mitsune confessed powerlessly, "The doctors say she should be all right, but they're still running some tests.  I really don't want to pull you away from your dance, but . . . "

            "I know.  I know," Keitaro said, picking up where Mitsune's voice trailed away, "I'll be right there."

            After they said their goodbyes, Keitaro replaced the receiver on the phone.

            Quickly and with purpose, Keitaro arose from his seat and headed back to the auditorium, and back to Shinobu on the other side of the dance floor.  "So this is how it all ends?" Keitaro sighed dolefully, "Shinobu must have my luck.  Her prom date is going to the hospital just like mine did."

            Keitaro recalled his own painful junior high school dance: Makoto's pained glances at him, Yoko Yokohama's abrupt departure, the violent spectacle of the rugby game, a fitting prelude to the strategy, tactics and war of the dance itself.  And now, nothing better awaited Shinobu.  

            As Keitaro reached the forest of faces on the dance floor, he craned his neck and caught a glimpse of Shinobu patiently awaiting his return to their table.  As he began to wade through the river of dancers, Keitaro felt as though he was fading into their singular motion.  He fought to keep Naru folded in the center of his heart, but he began to question what sort of good his presence would do at her hospital bed.  Being at her side would be inconsequential: she would either emerge from her coma or she wouldn't.  He could work no magic to revive her.  Certainly, he was hardly her prince charming; kissing her wouldn't wake her from her deep sleep, but would only result in a mild concussion for him when she finally shook off her unconsciousness.  All around Keitaro, shoes were grinding across the floor and hips were swaying.  An occasional stray leg knocked him against his shin and when one swift kick reached his knee, suddenly, Keitaro realized that he didn't want to leave the dance.  His selfishness and callousness immediately appalled his more decent sensibilities.  But then from her table, Shinobu lifted her eyes to meet Keitaro's.  Those were the same eyes that had stared at him in grateful silence when he first agreed to escort her to the prom; those were the eyes that were struck by wonder when he wouldn't allow her to withdraw her invitation to the prom, and those were the eyes that just moments ago had been moistened by the bitter tears of her childhood.  The choice now belonged to Keitaro what would next appear in Shinobu's eyes.

            His frightened thoughts stampeded through his mind.  He feebly attempted to shepherd them and call them to order, but it proved impossible.  He could feel the hearts around him pounding and beating in time with the throbbing music.  Beams of colored lights shifted and drove their way across the dance floor and into his eyes.  As his fugitive mind eluded recapture, Keitaro ecstatically and without warning announced to himself, "Yes!  Yes!  I do love Shinobu!"  Keitaro stopped dead in his tracks, shaken to his core by his own confession.

            After a while, Keitaro continued to swim through the sea of bodies as he returned to Shinobu.  As he passed by a pair of dancers, one of them bumped against Keitaro, nudging Mitsune's flask against Keitaro's side.

            "The flask, "Keitaro reminded himself, "I was reaching for it when I first realized that Naru's boutonnière was missing."

            Naru.

            Naru Narusegawa.

            A torrent of memories swept across Keitaro's mind, flooding out his sense of intimacy with Shinobu.  He turned his attention to where Shinobu sat: the dim lighting, her hair that faintly fell upon her shoulders, her eyes eagerly awaiting his return, and her hands resting so delicately in her lap.  

            Yes, he did indeed love Shinobu, he acknowledged, but he couldn't guarantee their happiness together.  With Shinobu, unlike Naru, there was a very real risk and a very real danger of failure.  

            But there was a good probability that Shinobu's warmth and humanity would bring his life more fulfillment than would Naru's aloofness and loathing.  But the difference between the two was that Naru was Promised to him, and Shinobu was not.  Whether their love would be fulfilling or not, it did not matter.  What mattered was that Naru was guaranteed to him.  The only way he could forfeit her was if he passed her over for another.

            Though the prognosis for a future with Naru was mediocre, he trusted that Fate would eventually bring her to him.  Keitaro unhurriedly anticipated a time when It would deliver her to him.  He could wait.  He had been waiting for almost two decades.  A few years were inconsequential to him as long as he received what he was promised.

            Unlike Naru, consummation with Shinobu was uncertain.  Keitaro had already searched for his Promised Girl for fifteen years.  It had been fifteen years of cold repression and humiliating frustration.  Even now as Shinobu struck a meditative still-life pose Vermeer wouldn't have been quick to ignore, he knew that he had come too far, sacrificed too much to renounce his Promised Girl, even for Shinobu.  In the five year interim it would take her to come of age, too much could happen, too many emotions could sour and so much passion could ebb prematurely.  He had always worked to make everyone happy, to satisfy everyone's needs and alleviate their worries, but when it came to his Promised Girl, he would accept no compromises.

            Keitaro parted a pair of dancers as he finally emerged from the dance floor.

            His expression was direly urgent but anxious. He plopped himself down at the table and uneasily wiped his forehead before speaking. 

"Shinobu," he said with immediacy and fretfulness, "There is something I have to tell you right now, and I don't know how you're going to react to this."

"Sempai?" Shinobu said gently.

"This is why he took so long," Shinobu told herself, "He must have been gathering the courage to confess his love for me!" 

As Keitaro inhaled slowly and deeply, Shinobu could feel a fragment of her soul being swept up in his drawing breath. She seemed to quiver in anticipation. She knew that what he was about to say would change her life irrevocably. 

Keitaro began again, "Shinobu . . . " 

            He felt Mitsune's flask within the pocket of his tuxedo jacket and knew that once begun, there was no turning back.  His choice would be final.

            "I'm sorry I kept you waiting for so long," he said hesitantly.

            "It's not a problem sempai," Shinobu assured him, "Now what did you want to tell me?"

            Without another word, Keitaro blurted out, "It's about Naru."

            "What?" Shinobu yelped, trying her best to suppress her unease, "Naru?"

            Keitaro winced as Naru's name caught against Shinobu and shredded her heart like razor wire.  Nearby classmates, drawn by the scent of Shinobu's blood, began to circle her, waiting for whatever they could scavenge from the scene.   

            "Naru?" one whispered to another.

            "Another girl, I bet," another chortled.

            "What are you saying, sempai?" Shinobu squeaked.

            "Naru is in the hospital.  An iron fell on her head," Keitaro explained, "We should go and wait by her bed till she wakes up."

            "Wait for Naru?" Shinobu asked incredulously, "Wait for Naru?  What difference does it make it if we're there or not?"

            "He's ditching her!" Shinobu heard.

            "I knew he would!" another chimed in.

            "Would she drop everything just to rush to your bedside?" Shinobu cried.

            "Shinobu," Keitaro eased in, "That's not the point.  We should be there for our friends."

            "You hear that," somebody chuckled, "He said, 'Let's be friends.' She's gonna be dumped for sure!"

            "Don't you want to stay here Keitaro?" Shinobu asked, her face flushing from the embarrassment and despair, "I'll even take responsibility for what happens back at Hinata Sou."

            "We have to leave, Shinobu," Keitaro said regretfully, "The streetcar will make its stop any minute now."

            Keitaro began to move toward the door.  In desperation, Shinobu leapt and clung to Keitaro's arm, attempting to stymie his movement.

            "Please be reasonable, Shinobu," he pleaded.

            "No sempai!" Shinobu shot back, "Please stay here!"

            Keitaro continued to walk slowly, dragging Shinobu along with him.  Her classmates followed in her wake like a hideous torrent.  The last thing Keitaro wanted to do was abandon her at the prom.  In reality, he didn't want to leave the dance or Shinobu, but he couldn't bear the thought of staying either.  By this time, they had reached the door.  Shinobu had still not detached herself from his arm.  Keitaro knew how painful it was for Shinobu to be abandoned just when she had found love.  Once he thought that Yoko Yokohama had loved him, but she had a higher calling: to drive the school mascot to the hospital.  And now it was Naru Narusegawa.  He couldn't even begin to guess how Naru felt about him.  Yoko Yokohama.  Naru Narusegawa.  The repetition in their names struck Keitaro.  The repetition could have signified a second change for Keitaro to change his past.  It could have almost been like a second life: a second opportunity to rectify the failure of his own junior high prom ten years ago.  Instead, the repetition in their names signified the fact that his efforts had been doomed from the beginning.  He would replicate the same mistakes that had been played out so long ago: both prom nights would end in broken dates, trips to the hospital, and he would never share the last dance with the one whom he loved.

            "Shinobu," Keitaro said, "I know what you're going through."

            Shinobu said nothing.  He could begin to feel her tremble with frustration and sadness.

            "I know because the same thing happened to me at my junior high school prom.  Remember?  My date had to leave me too in order to go to the hospital too.  But I'm taking you with me, so it's not so bad, right?" Keitaro declared, still dragging Shinobu along.

            "Sempai, shut up!" Shinobu screamed, "Shut up!"

            Keitaro was struck dumb by her fury.

            "Shut up!" Shinobu commanded for a third time, "Can't you see?  Yoko Yokohama didn't desert you because she had to go to the hospital!  She ditched you so she could be fingered by the school mascot!  Why do you have to be so stupid?!  How long will you let women use you, women like Yoko Yokohama and Naru Narusegawa?!  If you accept punishment so readily, then you probably deserve everything you get!" 

            Shinobu panted for a while, trying to regain her composure.  She realized that Keitaro had not moved since she had told him to shut up.  It looked as though he were comatose.  Not even his facial features registered any signs of consciousness.  Shinobu loosened her grip on his arm and back away from him.  Even the crowd held its collective breath in anticipation.  

            "I'm going now," Keitaro said calmly, finally breaking the silence, "Stay or tag along, it makes no difference to me."

            "No, no sempai," Shinobu begged, "I'm sorry.  I didn't really mean that.  I just don't want to see you get hurt anymore."  He continued to walk, no longer acknowledging Shinobu's presence.  Shinobu latched onto his arm once more.  "No sempai, please don't go," she whispered into his ear, "Please don't go, sempai, please."

            He labored even more intensely, like a machine striding forward.

            "No, no you can't leave me," Shinobu wept, "How can you leave me?"

            He still betrayed no emotions as he charged forward at a steady, determined pace.

.           "Sempai," Shinobu finally mumbled almost incoherently, "Please. Please sempai, please."  She paused momentarily before completing her almost moribund phrase. "Please love me."

            At that, Keitaro violently jerked her away.  Shinobu half-heartedly hugged his arm until finally being discarded.  She flopped into a puddle that had been made by the rains earlier that day.  Keitaro looked down on her with cold detachment.  Muddy and sniffling, Shinobu lifted herself up and sat upon her knees with her head bowed.  Keitaro turned and moved away from Shinobu, disappearing into the night.

End of Chapter 10.

Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only.


	15. Chapter 11: Last Dance with Shinobu chan

Last Dance with Shinobu-chan

By Project Pegasus

Chapter XI: Last Dance with Shinobu-chan

            By the time Keitaro arrived at the streetcar stop, it finally began to sink in what he had done to Shinobu.  He was no longer furious, only ashamed of his actions.  He couldn't have been the one who flung her into the puddle, he tried halfheartedly to convince himself.  It couldn't have been him, he told himself, because he would never deny Shinobu anything, much less hurt her.  It was a cold evening, and Keitaro felt a rain drop lodge gently on to the edge of his eyelashes.  Maybe he was at fault, he admitted, but Shinobu had wounded him deeply.  She was such an ingrate, he fumed.  The only reason Shinobu got as far she did was because of him.  It was he who agreed to go to the dance with her in the first place.  After her battled with Motoko, he was the one who persuaded her not to cancel their date.  But Keitaro realized grimly that he fell short it the crucial moment.  He had abandoned her in her hour of need, betrayed her, and spurned her for another.  He recalled painfully that as Shinobu lay in the puddle, she clutched her side.  Only then did he understand that she had probably fallen on the same bruise that Motoko had given her.  

            Though he didn't want to confess it, he knew deep down why she had hurt so deeply.  What she said was right.  He did let women use him.  But he would only acted the buffoon until Fate delivered him his Promised Girl.  After that, he would reassert his manhood.  

            "Deliver his promised girl"?  "Reassert his manhood"?  

            Keitaro scrutinized his logic for a moment.  Flopping down upon the bench, he cradled his head in his hands.  His faith in Fate was pornographic and shallow.  It brought dignity to nobody, least of all to Naru and himself.  He acted as though Naru were a government bond awaiting maturation or a dependable investment that had only cost him his dignity.  He acted as though his friends and he were nothing more than debts and loans made on the tally sheet of Fate.  Shinobu had been his only love all along, but he was afraid to accept his role as her lover.  He was a coward; she was the only one willing to challenge Fate, even if she knew from the beginning that she couldn't win.  

            He could feel his reality tumbling down around him.  He removed Mitsune's flask from his jacket and took three strong swigs, emptying the slender tin container.  He was tired and it was too late at night for him to start reassessing his reason for existence.  He took out Mitsune's pack of cigarettes and put one in his mouth.  The lighter was almost out of fluid.  He flicked the igniter again and again.  The sparks from the flint intermittently illuminated Keitaro's fatigued face.  

            Just as he had finally plucked a fragile blue flame from his lighter, his face was suddenly struck with an overwhelming white beam.  The headlights of a van were charging straight for him.  He managed to dive away just as the van collided with the bench.  He pulled himself from the ground and raised his eyes to meet the driver of the van: Seta.  

            "Keitaro," he said amiably, "Sorry about that.  I told you that I would be in the area tonight.  What's up?  Leaving the dance so soon?"

            "Seta," Keitaro said urgently, "Naru is in the hospital.  An iron fell on her head.  Could you please give me a ride there?"

            "Naru?" Seta said, concerned, "Yeah, no problem.  Get in.  What about Shinobu?"

            "She's all right," Keitaro said, "She'll find her own way."

            "Are you sure?" Seta asked.

            "She's going to make it," Keitaro said confidently.  Seta unlocked the passenger side door and Keitaro climbed aboard.  With a screech of tires and a throttle of the engine, they sped down the deserted road.  

*

*           *

            Hotaru placed the tray of green tea and _manjus*_ in front of a miserable Shinobu.  She made no motion; the cups of tea steamed in front of her silently.  

            "Are you sure that you don't want a new change of clothes?  You're soaked." Hotaru offered.  

            Shinobu shook her downcast head and continued to stare at the floor.  Hotaru clasped her teacup in her hands and sipped eloquently without disturbing Shinobu.

            "When I was younger," Hotaru began tentatively, "I dreamed that one day, a handsome prince would take me to his castle and marry me.  I guess that every girl has that fantasy at one point or another.  But as I got older, I realized that there were no such things as princes.  Do you know what princes are, Shinobu?"

            She shook her head, still to ashamed to peer into Hotaru's eyes.

            "Princes," she began again, her voice gaining momentum, "are nothing more than throwbacks from a time of inequality and unfair privileges.  And do you know what happened to them?  All dead.  When people realized that princes were only silly fools playing dress up, princes were put to the guillotine, toppled by revolution, or society just passed them by.  The ones that survive today are all inbred and make a living by owning Laundromats.  In actuality though, none of them 'survived.'  There are no such things as princes anymore because everybody knows that princes are just as fatally human as everyone else.  Do you get what I'm saying?"

            Shinobu took her teacup from the table.  The inviting tea heated her frigid and sodden body.  She had been shivering since Keitaro hurled her into the puddle.  The cab she took from her school to the Tomoe mansion had a broken window that wouldn't shut.  She finally felt alive again.  "I understand perfectly," Shinobu said, faintly smiling, "Thank you."  

            "Don't thank me," Hotaru said modestly, "I'm just telling you what you knew all along.  I'll get Kaori, my father's assistant, to give you a ride home."  Shinobu emptied her teacup and put it back on the table.  She began to giggle a bit.  Hotaru gave her a puzzled look.

            "What's wrong?" she asked.

            "Tonight," Shinobu said serenely, "I was afraid of breaking teacups and making stains.  I think that I finally figured out how to finish my tea like a lady.  Grandmother would be proud."

*

*            *

            "So the duck says, 'Just put it on my bill, Mack!" Seta blurted out before exploding into a peal of laughter.  

            "That's great, Seat-sensei," Keitaro said disingenuously, "I'm sure that'll get the attention of all your students."

            "Get it? Put it on my bill!" he repeated, "And he's a duck!"  After laughing anew at the punch line, Seta reached under his seat and produced his joke book.  "I've marked out my favorite jokes.  Tell me what you think of them."  He began to meticulously scan the pages for the traces of his blue highlighter.  The car careened from one side of the street to the other.  Keitaro lunged over to grasp the wheel, and took control of the van in time to narrowly avoiding a passing car.  "Ah here we go," Seta announced proudly, "This one will split your sides."

            "Seta," Keitaro exclaimed, "We're almost at the hospital."

            "Then you'd better let me drive," Seta said while batting Keitaro's hands away from the wheel.

            "So what did the limestone say to the geologist?" Seta asked deviously.

            "We're going to crash into that ambulance!" Keitaro screamed as he bailed from the moving van.  He executed a barrel roll as he spilled away from Seta and the van.  

            "No, actually he said, 'Stop taking me for granite!'" Seta corrected, "Get it? He's a limestone and he told the geologist . . . Woops!"  

            At that, Seta's van slammed into the side of a parked ambulance.  A tremendous explosion burst from the impact and shook the windows of the hospital.  On the third floor, Keitaro noticed the familiar heads of Mitsune, Mutsumi, Motoko, Sara, and Koalla peeking out.

            "Seta's van?" Mitsune asked, posing to Keitaro the almost rhetorical question.

"What else?" he confirmed.

            A cluster of hospital personal rushed outside and began to search the rubble.  They exhumed a critically burned Seta.  To Keitaro's shock, the left side of Seta's body had been cleaved away.  

            "Seta!" Keitaro yelled as they carried him away on a stretcher, "Are you ok?"

            "See Keitaro," he replied, "Without the left side of my body, I'm 'all right.'  Get it?  I'm . . . "  To Keitaro's relief, Seta passed out without being able to repeat his punch line.

            Keitaro peer upward once more.  "He'll be fine," he said, consoling his friends, "It's Seta, after all."

            "We're in room 324, Keitaro," Mitsune told him.

            "I'll be right up," he shouted to Mitsune.  He made his way up three flights of stairs and down a hall to Naru's room.  He knocked on the nondescript wooden door and was greeted by the girls.  

            "We're glad that you could make it, Keitaro," Mitsune said.      

            "How is she?" Keitaro asked.

            "The doctors got the test results back," Mutsumi informed him, "They performed a CAT scan, and there's no permanent damage.  In fact, the doctors can't understand why she hasn't woken up yet.  The trauma was severe, but not severe enough to put her in a coma."

            Keitaro approached Naru's bedside.  He pulled back her sheet enough to hold her hand.  An IV punctured her arm and an air pipe was put down her throat.  He continued to caress her hand as he stared at her face.  Slowly, hesitantly, and timidly, he began to bend forward.  One fearful movement after another, his lips neared hers.  

            "He's going to kiss her?" Sara asked Koalla.

            "What are you doing?" Mitsune demanded, "That's not going to help Naru, just so you know."

            "Pervert," Motoko ridiculed.

            As he was about to press his lips to Naru's, a faint voice rose from the bed.  Keitaro jerked back his head immediately.    

            "Naru?!" the girls yelped in disbelief.

            Feebly, Naru, pointed at her air pipe.  Gently, Keitaro removed it and put his ear in front of Naru's mouth.

            "Where am I?" she whispered into his ear.

            "You're at the hospital, Naru," Keitaro informed her soothingly, "An iron fell on your head and you were knocked out."

            "But the dance," she murmured, "You.  Shinobu.  The dance."

            "I left early," he stated matter-of-factly, "Just me.  Shinobu didn't want to go."

            "Just for me?" she asked, overwhelmed with emotion, "You left Shinobu for me?"

            "Save your strength," Keitaro said tranquilly  

            Though her mind was still clouded over and her cognition was foggy, she knew that what Keitaro had said all along was true: he and Shinobu did go to the dance as friends.  His heart was true and his intentions were pure.  This proved that his love for her was unconditional and had always been constant.

            "Keitaro, come closer to me," Naru said softly.  She closed her eyes and tenderly lifted her chin, her lips summoning Keitaro's.  He responded in kind, closing his eyes and drawing his body closer to Naru's.  She knew that he loved her, would sacrifice anything for her, but that she could never truly return his love.  She would always resent him for that.  As Keitaro neared, silent and disarmed, she grabbed him by the shirt.  She picked up a nearby bedpan and began to repeatedly club Keitaro.  

            "Fight!  Fight!  Fight!" Sara and Koalla chanted.

            She drew back the bedpan and let fly a wildly arching haymaker that knocked Keitaro to the opposite wall.

            "Naru!  Stop!  You'll injury yourself!" Mitsune commanded.

            "Ara!  Ara! Naru-chan please," Mutsumi begged.

            While Keitaro writhed on the ground in agony, Naru rose from her bed.  She had not taken her IV out of her arm.  As she hobbled to the Keitaro's scrunched up body, she menacingly wielded her weighty IV stand like a weapon.  

            "Why can't you leave me alone?!" she demanded.  She raised the metal rod overhead and brought it crashing down to Keitaro's head.  

            "Leave me alone!  Why can't I kill you?" she wailed as she bludgeoned him again and again with the dense base of the IV stand.  He tried desperately to shield his head with his arms, but it was no use.  He could no longer feel or move his arms after being battered repeatedly with the metal instrument.  Naru, in her cosmic rage, struck Keitaro's defenseless head relentlessly.  He was quickly loosing consciousness.  

            "You're going to kill him!" Mutsumi screamed as she rushed to restrain Naru.

            "Jesus!  What's gotten into you, Naru?" Mitsune yelled as she followed Mutsumi.

            Motoko only smirked and chuckled in an undertone as she leaned against the door with her arms crossed, observing the whole incident as an impassive spectator.  Sara and Koalla had long ago halted their cheering and looked on in disbelief.

            Mitsune wrested the stand from Naru as Mutsumi wrestled her to the ground.  Naru struggled bestially against them both.  When Keitaro realized that the thrashing had stopped, he turned his head and reached his hand to Naru.  Naru, who was still fighting against Mutsumi on the ground, immediately returned her attention to Keitaro.  "What are you looking at?!" she shrieked, "Are you looking up my hospital gown?!  You are!  I know it!"

            She shook off Mutsumi and pushed away Mitsune.  Ascending above Keitaro like an angel of death, she clutched him by his tuxedo jacket and raised him above her head.  She marched to the open window and prepared to send him hurtling three stories to the concrete below.  The other girls held their breaths in anticipation.  "What are you so scared about?!  You know damn well this won't kill him!"  She almost wept.

            But unexpectedly, she paused at the threshold of the window.  She did not complete her disposal of Keitaro.  Her body was unnaturally motionless.  She simply peered out of the window to the sidewalk below, as though engaging in a silent dialogue.  She let Keitaro slide to the ground; a moment later, she exhaustedly collapsed to the floor.  

            "Keitaro," she puffed, "Shinobu is down there.  I think she wants to talk to you."

            "Shinobu?"  he whimpered, "It doesn't matter.  I should stay here with you.  You are the hospitalized one after all."

            "Shut up and go before I send you down the hard way," she spat.

            He slowly and cautiously go to his feet before wobbling out the door.  Naru said nothing as she watched him leave.

*

*             *

            "Shinobu," Keitaro said as he came through the sliding glass doors of the hospital, "You shouldn't be out here.  It's still drizzling."

            "It's not a problem, sempai," she assured him.  Falling into silence, they awkwardly fumbled for something to say that would restart the uneasy conversation.  

            "I'm sorry that I . . ." Keitaro began before his voice trailed away like a thin, hollow reed.

            "Think nothing of it, sempai," Shinobu comforted, "I think that we were both a little mislead by everything that has happened these last few weeks."

            "Yeah I guess we were," Keitaro sheepishly acknowledged. "But still, I ruined your special night."

            Shinobu shook her head.  "You suffered too sempai," Shinobu said, "I know you did.  You didn't get your last dance."

            "Twice in a row I've missed the last dance," he said while scratching his head, "I guess when it comes to starting unlucky streaks, nobody beats me.  Proms. College admittance.  Love.  Life.  Some people just aren't made to win, I suppose."

            "You'll have your day in the sun, sempai," Shinobu said with a smile, "Whatever happens is meant to happen, right?  Blame it on Fate."

            Keitaro winced at the word, 'Fate,' but returned Shinobu's smile nonetheless.

            In the background, Koalla stealthily picked through the flaming wreckage of the ambulance and Seta's van, digging up the ambulance's sirens.  She booted up her laptop.  "Thank goodness for my new satellite Internet connection," she told herself as she began a download.  She spliced a few wires from her laptop and the sirens.  Her hands worked nimbly and calculatingly, completing the task just as the download completed.  "Done!' she cheered.  The music download from her computer blared over the sirens:  "Wild Horses" by The Sundays.**

            _Childhood living_

_            Is easy to do._

_            The things you wanted_

_            I bought them for you._

            Harriet Wheeler's*** voice crooned over the loudspeakers as Keitaro peered into Shinobu's brilliantly shimmering eyes. 

            "The last dance," a teary Keitaro whispered, "This song was played at my prom.  The last dance."

            "After you mentioned the song, I looked the lyrics up on Koalla's computer," Shinobu said, "I guess she thought it had some special significance to me."

            They continued to stare into each other's eyes for a moment, afraid that if one reached out, the other would shatter like lead crystal.  

            _Graceless lady_

_            You know who I am._

_            You know I can't let you_

_            Slide through my hands._

              The song continued.  "Hey, you idiot, would you just dance with her already!" a voice sounded from above, "This song is less than five minutes, you know?"

            Keitaro gazed upward and saw Naru haranguing him from the third story window.

            Fearlessly, he offered his hand to Shinobu.  "May I have this dance?" he propositioned with a bow.

            _Wild horses_

_            Couldn't drag me away_

_            Wild, wild horses_

_            Couldn't drag me away._

Delicately, she reached out and accepted his hand.  It was sensitive, and just a little clumsy, but it was a hand that acknowledged and empathized with hers.  He pulled her close to his body as they wrapped their arms around each other.

            _I watched you suffer_

_            A dull, aching pain._

_            Now you've decided_

_            To show me the same._

For the first time in weeks, she felt safe, safe from her gossiping classmates and protected from the jealous glares of the other girls of Hinata Sou.  It was a time when she could forget about her own insecurities and anxieties.  It was a place far removed from her bickering parents.  They began to sway submissively to the music.

            _No sweeping exits_

_            Or offstage lines_

_            Can make me feel bitter_

_            Or treat you unkind._

But she knew that it was all a pleasant illusion that couldn't outlast the melancholic lyrics and the mellifluous vocalist.  Though her brief world was doomed, she nuzzled closer to Keitaro and held him even tighter.

            _Wild horses_

_            Couldn't drag me away_

_            Wild, wild horses_

_            Couldn't drag me away._

            The song reached its bridge as Wheeler hummed to the melody.  During the interlude, Shinobu sang the lyrics to herself in her head.  

            _I know I dreamed you_

_            A sin and a lie_

_            I have my freedom_

_            But I don't have much time._

Two lovers caught in a routine of destructive co-dependence.  An undeterred lover refusing to admit defeat.  A tear dropped from Shinobu's cheek as she conceded that this couldn't be Keitaro's song to her.  Instead, it was Keitaro's song for Naru.

            _Faith has been broken_

_            Tears must be cried_

_            Let's do some living_

_            After we die._

            But even though she acknowledged that this was Keitaro's song for Naru, she still felt comforted knowing that at least this was her dance.  Nobody could take that away from her.

            _Wild Horses_

_            Couldn't drag me away_

_            Wild, wild horses_

_            We'll ride them some day._

            The guitar strummed its finals chords as the song faded into silence.  Keitaro held still for a moment, still embracing Shinobu.  Almost imperceptibly, he leaned his head toward her ear.

            "Shinobu," Keitaro said slowly and deliberately, "I love you." 

            She took a step back from Keitaro.  Without his arms around her, it the icy rains beat down upon her.  The scene stood still.  The only sound was from the pattering rain pittering interminably and patiently.  The drizzle parted her hair and plastered it against her scalp.  She brushed away the loose bangs stranded over her forehead.  The streetlamps were made misty and unreal by the falling silver streaks of rain.  She lifted her hand to Keitaro's humble and plaintive face.  It was a face she had love for years now.  His voice was uncertain but sincere.  His stooped shoulders and drooping glasses gave him a neurotic and fussy demeanor.  

            He had always seemed fussy and neurotic, but his face appeared somehow changed.  Perhaps part of it must have been the rains, which distorted and effaced everything.  But the rains had done something more.  They had baptized Keitaro and washed away his sins.  Reborn a new person, Shinobu found it difficult to recollect the visage of man whom she loved before.  While she gazed softly at him, she could still recognize her old Keitaro faintly refracted by the streaming tears of the rain as they ran down his face.  But she could not bring herself to resurrect Keitaro as he had been.  The broken shards were all that remained.  She collected the shattered image of Keitaro in her mind; they were sticky and deathlike, and had the faded scent of apples.  His fractured likeness retained a pleasant allure, but it was an attraction that was no longer fresh or pure or naïve.  It was as though he was one among many pale childhood memories, memories discolored and made brittle from afternoons left in the sun.  She stared into his eyes, but it was as though she were not even looking at him; her knowing and pensive gaze seemed focused on something intangible far beyond Keitaro.  

            "It's too late, Keitaro," Shinobu said.

            "Huh?" Keitaro exclaimed.

            "It's too late for you to be joking around like this," Shinobu said quietly, "The hospital might stop taking visitors soon and here you are outside joking around."

            "But Shinobu," Keitaro interjected, "I just said that I love . . . "

            "Keitaro," she interrupted, "Naru is waiting."

            "I'd better get back inside then," he said, humbled.

            "Sempai," she called out to him.

            "What is it?" he asked.

            "She loves you," Shinobu said, "Naru, I mean.  Never doubt that."

            "Does that even matter?" he asked in a flat voice.

            "I couldn't tell you," she replied, "but I'll be cheering for you both."

            "That's not necessary," a defeated Keitaro answer, "We both know how it'll end."

            He nodded and headed over to pick up Koalla's laptop.  Before reentering the hospital through the sliding glass doors, he turned around a final time.  He began to wave.  She held back for a moment as though making a final decision.  Finally, she signaled her goodbye to him.  He wandered through the doors and down the lobby before finally disappearing into a stairwell.

            "Farewell, my prince,"**** she whispered to herself. Shinobu gave herself a subtle, Mona Lisa smile.  She was alone.  She wasn't quite sure of the path home, but wasn't at all worried.  The curtain of rain continued to fall as she followed her own path into the night.  

**END**

*manju – a type of Japanese pastry

**"Wild Horses" by The Sundays. – A song originally written by the Rolling Stones, remade by The Sundays.

***Harriet Wheeler – The lead singer of The Sundays. 

**** OK I stole the prince motif from Revolutionary Girl Utena.

Note:  I hope everyone has enjoyed "Last Dance with Shinobu-chan."  It's my second fan fiction, my first serious one.  Thank you for all of your support, emails, and positive (and negative) reviews.  Much love.  Cheers.  - Project P.

Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only. 


	16. Appendix

Last Dance with Shinobu-chan

By Project Pegasus

Appendix:  In defense of Last Dance with Shinobu-chan

WARNING:  SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!

            It seems that some of you have misread what I've written.  I would simply like to write a short appendix to explain my motives.

Themes:

Fate and Free Will:  One of the basic cornerstones of Love Hina is its focus on Keitaro's search for his Promised Girl.  His Promised Girl told him that if two lovers go to Todai together, they will be happy forever.  This is what motivates him to study and take the Todai test over and over again.  The problem is that Keitaro's Promised Girl made this arrangement when she was five years old.  Is Fate so stupid as to listen to a five year old?  Keitaro, Naru, and to a degree, Mutsumi all accept the conventions of Fate even though it is an absurd and dehumanizing logic.  They do not try to fight against It.  Shinobu, on the other hand, battles against Fate.  She tries to break the spell that Fate has cast upon Keitaro, her, and the rest of Hinata Sou.  She knows there is no way that she could be Keitaro's Promised Girl, but she persists against all odds.  She fights the gods, and she loses; no mortal can win against the gods.  But even so, her struggle is what gives her integrity and maturity.

Maturity:  The unstable center of Shinobu's self-image is her supposed immaturity.  This is expressed in a number of images and metaphors throughout the fan fiction.  

Breasts:  Whenever Shinobu fearfully compares herself to another woman, she laments over the fact that her chest is smaller than the woman against whom she is comparing herself.  For instance, she concedes that her breasts are smaller than Naru's and Moto's.  (Moto is her main tormentor at school.)  In one way or another, she view both as rivals and enemies and feels inferior to them because of her chest size.  They are both more "womanly" because of their chest sizes.  This, of course, is an absurd standard by which to judge any person.  Such a bizarre standard leads to bizarre incidents, such as the 'exploding bra' segment.  Coming to realize that society's fetish with breasts have nothing to do with her maturity is part of Shinobu's process of growing up.   

Clothes:  Shinobu switches clothing a number of times throughout the fan fiction.  This is usually done when she is trying to conform to a new standard.  But often she finds herself unable to fit the prearranged roles.  For instance, she feels self-conscious when Moto calls attention to the ill-fitted, flat front of Shinobu's school uniform.  When Shinobu changes into her training gi, she is unable to fulfill her role as either Motoko's sparring partner or her lover.  She finds herself unable to fit into Haruka's old prom dress, so she cannot go as the prom queen.  She openly rejects Mitsune's tacky gown, declining Mitsune's invitation to go to the dance as the prom slut.  Shinobu can't find clothes that fit, just as she can't find a proper identity that would allow her to reach maturity.  Mitsune draws attention to the fact that women have a much harder time than men when it comes to finding clothes that fit.  It is only when Mutsumi tailors her best dress to fit Shinobu does she begin to realize that she doesn't need to fit into prescribed and streotypical roles, but can make her own identity.

The Dance:  It is a hollow and meaningless right of passage with the semblance of a real one.  The dance represents a fabricated and incomplete path to maturity.  Shinobu puts so much emphasis on the dance because she expects something extraordinary will happen at the dance that will turn her into a real woman.  The dance is, after all, only the auditorium with special lights, music, and tacky ornaments.  Shinobu symbolically abandons this misleading passage to growing up when leaves the dance.

Sex:  Shinobu sees sexual initiation as a dangerous but sure way to guarantee her maturity.  Her anxiety can be seen in Part II of Perestroika when Mitsune is dolling her up.  Mitsune, for her part, probably had no intention of making Shinobu into a slut, but only dressed her up as she herself would have dressed.  Shinobu brought her own anxieties to the incident, the reason she reacted so erratically at the end of the chapter.  The broken teacup and the stained sheets are symbolic of . . . well, you know, Shinobu toying with the idea of compromising herself for the first time.  Watch for the teacup in the final chapter. 

Characters

Mutsumi:  In many ways the emotional cornerstone of Hinata Sou.  She has long ago accepted in her mind that she and Keitaro are not Fated to be a couple.  Of course in her heart, she has yet to come to terms with this.  She recognizes a fellow exile in Shinobu: a woman drawn to Keitaro despite knowing that he is Fated to be with Naru.  Her wisdom and acceptance of the inevitable are great comforts to Shinobu.  Her insights allow Shinobu to begin to think of maturity in totally different terms than what she had been used to.  Her important symbolic act of adapting her best dress to fit Shinobu is the beginning of Shinobu's realization that she doesn't need to fit the roles and expectations of others in order to reach maturity.  In it final form, Shinobu realizes that she doesn't need to accept the role of Keitaro's lover in order to find fulfillment.

Motoko:  She herself falls into some of the same traps as Shinobu.  In order to retain an identity, she accepts roles that she cannot fulfill.  One role is of the great warrior.  At one point she mentions Achilles.  Achilles, like Motoko, thought of himself as a warrior without peer, the archetypal hero of heroes.  But like Motoko, Achilles was a flawed tragic hero whose blindnesses and imperfections prevented him from fulfilling the role as the exemplary hero.  Motoko isn't flawed because of her desires, but because she cannot come to accept or deal with them.  She denies them because to admit them would be to shame herself and bring dishonor on her family.  For a martial artist following the way of the warrior, dishonor and shame are intolerable; she would rather banish or kill off part of herself rather than forfeit her warrior identity.  Her disavowal of her true self is channeled into a terrifying but childish wrath that hangs over the rest of the story.

Hotaru Tomoe:  Shinobu's mystery friend who bears a strange resemblance to Sailor Moon's Hotaru Tomoe (a.k.a. Sailor Saturn).  In Sailor Moon, Saturn was the senshi of death, rebirth, and revolution.  When Shinobu leaves her dance, all of the assumptions of her old life are dead.  Her reality has crumbled around her.  She can no longer rely on Keitaro.  Her dance, the critical component to her passage into womanhood, has been a failure.  Hotaru works to point out that Shinobu shouldn't be devastated by these seeming catastrophes.  She takes Shinobu's raw experiences and recasts them in a totally new light.  Instead of focusing on how Keitaro has abandon her and how her dance was a failure, she argues that Shinobu now realizes that concepts like male protection, chivalry, the prom, and unrealistic social standards are all illusions and bankrupt concepts.  Unrealistic and foolish ideals (i.e. princes) are dead in the real world, and dead in Shinobu's life.  Hotaru has given Shinobu the power to revolutionize her seemingly devastated world.  She has helped Shinobu to dispel her false gods.  By doing so, she has reached true womanhood.

Keitaro:  In many ways, the plot wouldn't have taken place without Keitaro.  Indeed, even as he argues, he was the one who agreed to the prom and the one who wouldn't let Shinobu withdraw her invitation.  He is sweet, thinks of the needs of others, is pleasant to a fault, and works hard to earn what he thinks he deserves.  He also helps Shinobu come to an understanding about her painful past.  But these positive attributes cannot conceal his shortcomings and defects.  He thinks of Naru as his wayward property that Fate will one day return to him.  The price he pays for his peonage to Fate is his dignity, but even so he hold the illusion that he got the better part of the bargain.  He can either challenge Fate by taking Shinobu as his lover, or can accept Fate by choosing Naru.  But unlike Shinobu, he cannot defy fate.  He will not take the risk of loosing his Promised Girl.  He thinks in terms of investment and return: Fate as the cosmic cash register.  An investment in Shinobu is high risk; there is a good chance of failure (especially since he will have to lay back for a few years while she comes of age), but also the chance that an investment in Shinobu will yield a higher return than an investment in Naru.  An investment in Naru has no chance of failure, but the returns on such an investment are pitiful and discouraging.  His complacency and inability to gamble everything are his fatal weaknesses.

Naru:  Perhaps the character that has the most bearing on everyday people.  She knows that she can never fully love Keitaro, but she finds herself cornered by Fate.  She doesn't have the emotional tools necessary that would allow her to challenge It.  Instead she conditions herself again and again to internalize and accept her Fate.  Unwilling to fight Fate, she tries desperately to convince herself that she is happy or could be happy with Keitaro and works distraughtly to introject Fate as part of her identity.  She does such a good job that even she begins to believe her own lies.  She plays games with Keitaro, and seeks to lose herself in the labyrinth of her internal thoughts rather than face the reality of her misery or oppose Fate.

Shinobu:  Realizes that she is better than Keitaro.  Enough said.


End file.
